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CHIHUAHUA. 

A  NEW   AND   ORIGINAL   SOCIAL  DRAMA 
IN   FOUR  ACTS. 


CHESTER  GORE  MILLER. 

(Dramatic  Work,  the  first.) 


Without  money,  life  is  but  existence,  nothing  more. 

I    would    say    that    of    him    who    can    dissemble    successfully, 
Nature  has  conferred  a  priceless  gift. 

I  do  not  want   my  confidence  in   human   nature  strengthened, 
for  tomorrow  would  only  shatter  it. 


7ERSITr 


Oy         -  K  . y!^'  CHICAGO,  ILL, 

WILSON  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 


119  Lake  Street. 
189I. 


Copyright,  1890,  by  C.  G.  Miller. 

All  rights  reserved. 
.^?^/J-^ 


CONTENTS. 


PAGK 

Preface  5 

Dedication 6 

Dramatis  Persons ,  . .  . .  V 

Synopsis  of  Scenes   7 

Prologue 8 

Act       1 9 

"        II 29 

"       III 55 

"      IV 11 

Epilogue 96 


PREFACE. 


During  the  winter  of  1884,  in  San  Francisco,  Cali- 
fornia; the  author  while  reading  Deluze's  work  on  animal 
magnetism,  first  conceived  the  idea  of  using  the  subject  as 
a  plot  basis.  The  play  was  outlined  and  laid  away. 
Taken  up  and  completed  between  the  9th  and  23rd  of 
December,  1889,  in  New  York  City;  copyrighted  in 
January,  1890,  and  revised  at  various  times  to  the  present 
form. 

It  is  true,  that  though  much  within 
Resembles  much  without ;   still 
I  tried  to  look  beyond  the  old ;  and  not 
Intentionally  borrowed  from  about. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


DEDICATION. 


To  one  of  the  dark  agencies  of  life  ; 
I  inscribe  this  epitome  of  much. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONAE. 


Walter  Emory,  alias  Mr.  Sumner  of  Tombstone. 

John  Emory,  alias  Mr.  Bowie  of  Chihuahua. 

Jackson  Fremont,  broker  on  New  York   Mining  Stock 

Exchange. 
Lieut.  Ray  Silverton,  U.  S.  Cavalry,  Arizona. 
Mr.  West,  Mr.  Fremont's  accountant. 
Ex-Senator  Choate,  lawyer  and  notary. 
Cicero,  a  butler. 
Mrs.  Fremont. 
Hazel  Emory,  her  daughter. 

Lotta  Prescott,  cousin  and  ward  of  Mrs.  Fremont. 
Mrs.  Kelton,  mother  of  Mrs.  Fremont. 
Lady  and  gentlemen  guests,  in  Act  II. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  SCENES. 


Place — New  York  City. 

Time— The  Present. 
Act  I. — Private  office  of  Mr.  Fremont,  Wall  Street. — 
Afternoon. 

Act  II. — Drawing  room  of  the  Fremont  mansion,  Fifth 

Ave. — That  evening. 
Act  III. — Conservatory — One  month  later. 
Act  IV. — The  Library — Two  months  later. 


PROLOGUE. 


In  the  perusal  of  this  infliction, 

Don't  gauge  it  all  as  empty  fiction; 

But  study  close  and  you  will  find 

Many  ideas  of  a  light  and  darkened  kind, 

To  assert  a  shape,  to  design  a  lesson. 

Take  the  character  of  Monte,  not  universal; 

A  direct  contradiction  of  our  Nation's  motto, 

E  Pluribus  Unum — Latin — "One  of  many." 

This,  on  the  golden  and  silvered  face 

Grace  it,  we  do  read  it. 

So  in  life's  construction,  these  very  words, 

Three  only,  do  we  read  you  on 

The  darkened,  the  brighter  and  the  many  surface. 

She  is  one  of  many,  he  is  one  of  many. 

They  the  same;  nations  may  be  marked: 

Whether  for  the  innumerable  multitude 

Of  situations  attendant  on  this  life 

Of  individuals,  republics  or  empires. 

In  this  prologue,  this  triumvirate  of  words 

Is  hampered  with  exceptions: 

For  exceptions  do  claim  respect; 

Speaking  of  one,  only  one  of  many  a  one; 

And  this,  a  singular  person,  will  rise  up 

In  truth  to  win  an  affirmation. 

The  name  is  genius,  here  the  Latin  stumbles; 

Genius,  which  always  reinains^one  of  few. 

Sumner  is  in  the  vicinity; 

A  master  of  himself  and  others: 

Intellectual,  ambitious,  passionate  and  cold. 

His  mind  a  practiced  reasoner's  sway  does  hold: 

A  general  in  the  army  of  the  narrow  minds. 

To  deceive  himself  he  is  not  so  blind; 

He  bargains  with  success  and  pays  the  price. 

Of  the.  balance,  there  exist  a  multitude 

Kindred  to  their  dispositions: 

Kindly  let  them  go  for  what  they  are, 

To  brace  the  principal,  not  to  mar. 

Now  leading  man  please  do  not  swagger 

When  you  characterize  Mr.  Sumner.     Neither 

Weary  your  audience  with  long  speeches 

And  lengthy,  tiresome  discourse; 

For  much  herein  is  writ  to  cut 


ACT 


^>'   0?  THR 

fHIVBRSIT 


Scene — Private  office  of  Mr,  Fremont^  Wall  St. 
Afternoon, 

JRremont — Standing  at  window  looking  out ;  raining 
heavily^  wind  whistling , 

What  depressing  effect  accompanies  such  weather; 
Darkened  skies ;  rain  driving  in  torrents ;  wind 
Whistling  in  mournful  sighs  down  the  chimney  flues; 
Telling  to  my  imagination  sorrowful  tales; 
Stories  of  phantoms;  what  chilling  influences. 
The  hour  is  as  an  evening  one,  it  is  late: 
Four  o'clock ;  deserted  streets ;  business  about  over. 
It  was  a  stormy  day  quite  like  this, 
Nine  years  ago — that — but  why  recall  the  memory? 
What — again!  again! — another  presentiment? 
When  some  event 

Unfortunate  to  our  interests  has  happened,  an  occasion 
Of  by-gone  years;  some  trifling  incident  or  thought, 
Bring  back  to  the  memory 
From  the  shadows  of  the  past  a  presentiment 
Of  the  event  or  events  to  come.     It  seems 
Like  a  grim  vision  of  warning ;  it  startles  us ; 
Our  power  to  resist  its  force  is  gone. 
A  dark  foreboding,  it  leaves  a  deep  impression ; 
To  shadow  our  minds;  make  our  rest  a  troubled  dream ; 
Our  waking  moments  a  misty  vision  of  the  near  future; 
A  nightmare  of  the  day;  snatches  of  real  incidents; 
Fanciful  ghosts  of  idle  thoughts; 
A  grand  conglomeration  of  everything; 


10  CHIHUAHUA. 

Like  a  great  drama  constructed  of  many  ideas; 

Such  is  its  composition :  and  to  the  superstitious 

Records  an  omen  and  means  much; 

To  thinking  and  enlightened  minds 

Records  but  a  phase  of  Nature's  queer  laws 

And  ways  yet  dark  to  philosophy,  and  means  nothing. 

Why  will  the  past  keep  so  attendant  on  me 

To  the  exclusion  of  more  weighty  thoughts? 

What  need  of  this  last  serious  stroke 

Of  this  mental  torturer? — unknow^n. 

Why  will  the  memory  of  this  long  years  ago  episode, 

Seek  companionship  with  the  happier  moods? 

Casting  a  baleful  shadow  o'er  my  peace  of  mind. 

Vague  impressions  have  assailed  me  the  past  week. 

Is  this  the  punishment  a  man  who  happens  once 

To  have  done  a  piece  of  financial  work, 

In  the  light  as  hardly  square,  has  to  endure? 

Am  I  weak?     most  certainly  so: 

Yet  if  I  reckon  aright,  those  men  history  call  brave 

Have  had  their  conscience  pricked  now  and  then 

By  sundry  well-nigh  forgotten  scandals. 

It  goes  by  report  that  stock  brokers 

Have  not  a  conscience,  I  must  be  an  exception. 

I  will  once  more  read  over  the  letter 

That  rests  foundation  to  these  apprehensions. 

Rings  hell — Enter    West, 

Fremont.    West,  bring  me  the  box  numbered  one. 
On  the  third  shelf  to  the  left.     Exit  West. 
Again  will  I  attempt  to  ease  a  conscience 
Too  easily  troubled  by  trifles ;  but  then  what  a  world 
Of  mournful  sighs  lies  encompassed  in  those  words. 


ACT  /.  11 

Enter  West^  with  dusty  tin  cash  box. 

West.    Here  is  the  box,  but  laying  so  long 
Undisturbed  by  inquiring  hands, 
It  is  enveloped  by  dust  and  cobwebs 
In  a  mantle  of  dull  leaden  color. 

Fremont,     Mind  not  the  looks  West;  its  color 
Gives  to  it  an  air  of  w^ell  kept  w^isdom ; 
Of  hoarded  treasures  of  along  past  period: 
Should  custom  not  to  shortly  change 
Its  burial  mode,  to  consign  us  to  the  flames; 
We'll  rest  under  a  fathom  of  the  solid  earth ; 
Relegated  to  the  long  slumbering  peaceful  ness 
Of  an  evolution  from  material  life 
To  flaky  dust.     What  are  the  latest  reports? 

West,  Business  dull,  not  much  doing.  Comstocks  firm. 
Oil  w^eak. 

Fremont,    Any  one  in  for  me? 

West,  Only  the  Lieutenant;  I  said  you  w^ere  busy; 
he  vs^ouldn't  v^ait ;  said  he  might  call  later,  as  he  desired 
to  see  you  in  private. 

Fremont,     Call  some  one,  call ;  Devil  you  may, 
If  you  w^ill  but  liven  up  this  dull  day. 
Announce  the  next. 

West,     Very  w^ell. — Exit, 

Fremont,    What  a  history  this  little  key  unlocks.  What 
Unimagined  mysteries  some  tin  boxes  contain. 
Did  their  sides  speak;  w^hat  of  importance 
They  could  convey.     In  this  city's  social  lists 
Many  a  man  rated  high,  w^ould  tremble ; 
Did  that  which  find  their  refuge  here. 
Be  opened  to  the  broad  light  of  public  approval 
Or  condemnation,  quite  usually  the  latter. 


12  CHIHUAHUA. 

Takes  from  box  a  letter. 

An  envelope,  therein  a  letter ; 

Yellowing  fast  with  the  lapse  of  years: 

It  shows  much  handling. 

'Tis  not  the  first  time  I  have  read  it: 

A  weakness  to  be  acknowledged. 

Why  this  subtle  fascination  ? 

There's  little  in  it,  nought  but  a  threat. 

Of  no  literary  value; 

A  like  excellence  would  place  the  writing. 

But  it's  connected  with  a  history, 

A  link  in  my  life's  eventful  chain. 

Thus  is  a  letter,  a  relic,  though  nominal 

In  value :  let  it  but  have  previous  connection 

With  a  past  event  of  our  lives. 

It  sometimes  is  given  a  two-fold  reverence: 

Be  its  cause  for  happy  thoughts  or  sad  ones. 

Dated  nine  years  ago, — Starts — 

This  very  day! — 

Tucson,  Arizona,  Nov.  20 

Jack  Fremont: 

For  six  months  I  looked  for  your  return;  you  failed  to 
show  up.  The  boy  and  I  left  for  the  North ;  the  Apaches 
got  us;  he  was  taken  prisoner  has  undergone  the  usual 
tortures  and  is  at  rest  long  before  this.  I  escaped  to 
Tucson,  heard  later  of  your  rise  through  "Epitaph  Bill" 
who  bucked  the  tiger  in  York  last  winter.  So  the  dis- 
coverer of  the  Chihuahua  was  left  to  die  in  the  wilds  of 
the  Southwest.  You  know  my  record  as  regards  the  old 
troubles  with  others,  I  have  still  a  notch  to  make. 
My  respects  to  your  prosperity, 

John  Emory, 


ACT  /.  13 

When  last  I  saw  him  he  counted  his  notches  to  a 
dozen.  The  report  which  spread  abroad  that  he  and  his 
son  died  of  fever  in  Sonora,  still  holds  good ;  no  word  in 
nine  years.  Good  lie  well  told,  will  a  long  time  roll. 
He  must  be  dead.  His  wife  now  my  wife;  I  think  he 
had  his  revenge  when  I  married  his  wife;  she  is  ambitious. 
Some  people  complain  of  having  a  skeleton  in  their  lives; 
I  feel  at  times  as  though  I  owned  a  graveyard.  I  am  too 
weak;  but  then  these  mental  strokes  are  frightfully 
realistic. — Knock  without, — Come  in. 

Enter    West, 

West,     A  Mr.  Sumner,  asks  to  see  you. 
Fremont,     His  business? 

West,     Says  private. 
Fremont,     Send  him  in. — Exit  West, 

Enter  Sumner, 

Sumner,     Is  this  Mr.  Fremont? 

Fremont,     The  same. 

Sumne4^,  My  name  is  Sumner;  and  I  have  a  little 
business  to  transact  that  may  require  the  limit  of  an  hour. 
Would  you  kindly  grant  attention  ? 

Fremont,  The  hour,  Mr.  Sumner,  is  yours;  will  you 
remove  your  coat? 

Sumner,     Gladly;  bad  weather  out. 

Fremont.     Miserable;  have  a  seat.  '    ' 

Sumner,    Thanks.     Now  to  my  mission;  it's  the  relating 
Of  a  tale,  that  in  justice  to  my  delivery 
You  will  drink  in  every  word  most  thinkingly: 
Though   passing    years   mayhap    have    rusted  some  your 
memory, 


14  CHIHUAHUA. 

As  it  is  not  a  likely  subject  you'd  keep  polished  up 
In  memory's  storehouse,  as  for  a  ready  interview. 

Fremont,  Continue  with  the  assurance  I  am  an  atten- 
tive listener  to  what  you  may  relate. 

Sumner,     This  dose  may  contain  some  bitterness; 
But  mark  well  my  words  to  formulate  reply, 
And  let  your  reason  tarry  on  your  answer. 

Fremont,     Whatever  be  the  import  of  your  words 
The  bearing  they  carry  will  receive  answer 
Modelled  to  your  text. 

Sumner,  It's  well.  Glancing  backward  fifteen  years, 
the  exact  date  I  do  not  recall;  a  Pacific  Mail  Steamer  that 
cleared  from  the  port  of  Panama  landed  at  San  Francisco 
one  dark  December  day  two  men  and  a  boy  of  nine 
years 

Fremont,     Nervously ,     Yes,  yes 


Sumner,     As  a  poet  might  say,  Mr.  Fremont; 
Attune  your  ears  to  any  new  surprise,  and 
Let  unbroken  reel  the  thread  of  discourse 
To  an  end. 

Fremont,      Waves  his  hand  to  'proceed, 

Sujnner,  They  were  strangers  to  the  West;  having  left 
New  York  six  weeks  previous;  with  two  objects  in  view: 
the  father  in  search  of  health  for  the  boy,  the  partner  to 
seek  the  golden  fleece,  and  fleeced  they  were  indeed. 
Their  names  were  John  Emory,  the  father;  Walter 
Emory,  the  boy  and  Jack  Fremont  the  partner.  You  re- 
cognize the  trio? 

Fremo7it,  Excitedly,  Yes,  and  I  wish  to  hear  no  more ; 
what  will  you  have?  What  is  your  object  in  this?  And 
with  the  greatest  curiosity  I  would  ask,  who  are  you, 
that  you  seem  so  well   informed  of  this  past? 


4CTJ) 

Sumner,  Has  Nature  so  changed  in  nine  long  years  of 
vicissitudes,  hard  and  bitter  fights  with  adverse  circum- 
stances, my  countenance;  that  you  fail  to  perceive  some 
mark  of  recognition?  Has  your  memory  in  these  lapsed 
years  so  tarnished  that  you  forget  one  so  y^eW  know^n 
before?  Walter  Emory  is  the  name  by  which  I  was 
formally  known;  and  I  am  here  to  obtain  what  is  lawfully 
mine. 

JFremont,  You  lie !  Becoming  possessor  to  knowledge 
of  a  past  episode  of  my  carreer,  you  aim  to  hush  a  later 
day  report.     Walter  Emory  died  by  Apache  torture  in  the 

State  of  Chihuahua,  Old  Mexico.     I  have  the  docu 

I  have  a  memory  and  a  good  one.     You  are  to  me  an  ad- 
venturer! a 

Sumner,  Make  strong  your  accusations  as  you  can; 
I  know  well  just  what  I  know,  and  barring  further  inter- 
ruption I  will  continue. 

Fremont,  Silence  I  say!  out  of  here  quietly  or  I 
shall  ring  for  an  oficer. — Rises, — This  blackmail  shall  not 
go  on! 

Sumner,  Seizes  Fremont  by  the  throat  and  hurls  him, 
into  his  chair  ^fixing  upon  him  a  piercing  look  the  broker 
cannot  meet.  Be  resigned  Fremont ;  keep  your  nerves  more 
quietly  employed  than  worried  by  opposing  me.  To  re- 
sume, where  left  I  off  ?  O,  where  in  selected  language 
you  failed  to  recognize  me. 

Fremont,  Aside,  I  suppose  I  must  hear  it  all,  still  he 
looks  unlike  the  boy.' 

Sumner,  My  mother  and  little  sister  remained  in  New 
York,  my  father  intending  to  send  for  them  as  soon  as  he 
made  a  stake;  but  plans  don't  always  pan  out.  Six  years 
elapsed,  the  Eldorado  still  continued  a  vision  of  the  obscure 


IB  CHIHUAHUA. 

future  of  the  miner's  luck.  At  last  an  outfit  was  made  up 
to  prospect  in  Mexico,  Chihuahua  was  reached;  and 
there  in  a  far  off  and  almost  inaccessible  canon  in  the 
Sierra  Madras  the  lode  was  struck.  The  bonanza  was  one 
of  the  long  lost  Aztec  mines  of  which  the  Indian  romances 
tell  us.  It  was  christened  the  "  Chihuahua,"  to  honor  the 
State  that  harbored  it  within  its  borders.  Eureka!  we 
exclaimed;  our  troubles  seemed  to  vanish;  gold  was  in 
sight.  Ah,  but  how  frail  is  the  base  of  great  expectations. 
John  Emory  discovered  the  lode.  Jack  Fremont  reaped  the 
benefit.  Stand  up  temptation  and  a  man,  and  the  former 
seldom  falls.  With  a  train  of  loaded  mules,  (they  always 
are,)  each  burdened  with  three  hundred  weight  of  high 
grade  ore,  you  left  for  Frisco  to  organize  a  company,  float 
the  stock,  to  the  manner  of  the  day  as  now  exists  on  Pine 
Street  and  the  Alley;  return  and  work  the  mine  and  over 
the  hoisting  works  would  read  the  legend  "  The 
Chihuahua — Emory,  Fremont  &  Co."  The  discoverer 
and  his  son  remained  to  guard  the  fortune  found.  The 
company  was  formed ;  the  stock  was  floated  and  disposed 
of  by  you,  not  only  your  shares  but  those  of  Emory  on 
a  boomed  market,  in  the  old  reliable  regulation  way 
memorial  to  Fine  Street  and  the  Alley.  You  neglected 
to  return;  the  deal  collapsed;  the  company  became  a 
myth;  Fremont  with  the  gained  capital  forgot  its  origin; 
forgot  his  partner's  friendship,  a  tie  of  years;  which  as  a 
rule  in  such  cases  holds  good ;  a  bond  of  love  and  fellow- 
feeling  made  strong  by  the  long  struggle  with  poverty 
and  hardship;  sundered  it  was:  my  father  the  rough  and 
unknown  prospector,  sunk  in  the  wilds  of  a  foreign 
land — fortune's  rattle — was  dropped  by  his  now  wealthy 
and  former  partner;  six  months  travelled  on;  we  left  the 


ACT  I.  17 

camp;  a  long  journey;  an  Apache  attack  ;-^  I  a- prisoner- to 
eventually  escape  doomed  thenceforth  to  wander  homeless 
and  alone  a  child  of  fortune,  now  a  man  of  a  like  occupa- 
tion: my  father  was  shot  dead  and  left  upon  the  field; 
Fate  hurled  a  parting  gift  upon  him;  he  escaped  the 
Apache  tortures.  'Tis  not  necessary  for  you  to  ask  what 
'tis  I  ask;  no  great  financial  gifts  have  yet  been  showered 
upon  me.  My  claim  has  all  the  sweetness  of  modesty 
tinctured  not  by  unreasonable  requests;  you  are  a  million 
aire,  my  share  is  half;  too  little  by  far  in  my  philosophy 
of  the  case;  and  but  a  short  bit  as  the  price  of  a  father's  life, 
sacrificed  by  the  duplicity  of  a  trusted  partner ;  a  mother 
and  a  sister  of  which  I  lost  all  trace  though  long  have  I 
sought;  the  narrative's  unreeled.     Your  answer? 

Fremont,     Quite  interesting  a  tale;  who  told  it  to  you? 
Your  mind  has  talents  more  befitting  an  occupation 
As  a  sensational  novelist;  then  the  lesser  dignity 
Of  a  fortune  hunter,  capitalled  with  vague  wild  tales 
Of  a  romantic  country,  lost,  mines  of  the  Montezumas; 
Very  amusing  most  enchanting  yarn  for  so  dull  a  day. 
My  child  I  am  too  old;  take  one  more  verdant 
In  financial    fields  than  I,^  or  try  some  one 
More  gullible  than  a  broker  of  the  regular  board. 
There's  your  answer,  the  door. 

Sumner,   .  Locks  door^  puts  key  in  pocket, 
Mr.  Fremont,  favored  terms  must  decide  my  future. 
Alone  in  this  great  city ;  for  New  York 
Is  a  hard  place  to  be  in,  broke  and  friendless; 
I  would  have  suffered  considerably. 
Did  not  my  valuable  watch,  in  the  action 
Of  a  short  remaining  duty,  z,  e,  till  unwound, 
Repose  in  mine  uncle's  safe;  and- 


18  CHIHUAHUA. 

I  swear  I'll  not  hypothecate  the  ticket. 
So 

Fre7nont,  Damn  you  sir!  leave  this  office,  or  I  will 
call  for  help!     I  will 

Sumner.     You  will  be  silent. 

Fremont,  Now  see  here,  my  dear  sir;  my  time  is 
precious,  you  are  too  important  altogether,  I  can't  listen  to 
such  rot! 

Suinner,     As  to  my  importance  you  can  measure 
Not  too  closely ;  as  to  your  time 
You  value  it  beyond  its  actual  worth 
At  present  or  in  the  near  future.     Your  time  to  me 
Is  mine  alone,  of  which  I  will  profit  as  I  use  it: 
For  if  I  see  aright,  others  will  push  well  their  affairs 
With  you;  for  this  precious  time  might  need  to  lapse; 
An  action  time  itself  is  not  guilty  of; 
But  rather  of  the  being  who  chooses  to  consider 
Time  as  his  own.     As  to  your  title  of  the  history. 
It  deserves  a  better  appellation. 

Fremont,  You  speak  as  if  you  would  rule  my  destiny, 
I  am  unused  to  dictation  from  a  boy. 

Sumner,  One  person  is  often  the  fate  of  another;  for 
in  many  ways  the  present  controls  the  future  and  vice- 
versa.  True  I  look  a  boy  that's  because  I  shave.  So 
you'r  a  boy,  as  your  reputation  goes  around  the  clubs. 

Fremont,     Sir!  I 

Sumner,  Shut  up!  To  the  charge  of  dictation;  from 
a  dictator  it  is  well  to  receive  it  with  a  bow;  but  from  one 
unused  to  mastery,  the  grounds  are  weak. 

Fremont,  This  must  stop  right  here,  sir!  Get  out,  or 
I  shall  at  the  first  opportunity  give  to  the  criminal  court 
an  interesting  case   of   a   blackmailer  wanting   half    my 


•      '        ACT  /.  19 

fortune.  Ridiculous!  preposterous!  Where  are  your  proofs 
to  this  great  claim?  Go, draw  your  check  on  the  United 
States  Treasury ;  draft  at  the  surplus;  it's  a  larger  fortune 
and  you'd  get  it  just  as  quick. 

Sumner,  For  proofs,  I  have  only  the  exact  honesty  of 
a  related  history  you  know  too  well.  Have  you  a  sheet  of 
foolscap  ? 

Fremont,  Hands  him  fafer.  What  next?  going  to 
draw  your  check?  I  beg  of  you  one  consideration,  don't 
acknowledge  me  plotter  in  your  furtherance  of  my 
suggestion. 

Sumner,  Tears  off  half  sheet ^  folds  in  the  shape  of  a 
cone.  Yes,  a  most  original  check;  a  check  to  sarcasm,  no 
longer  am  I  to  listen  too.  1  shall  not  risk  the  law;  you 
are  wealthy;  I  penniless;  though  my  cause  has  an  honest 
claim  for  justice.  Were  I  not  schooled  in  that  great  virtue 
of  policy  I  would  shoot  you  down,  for  you  murdered  in- 
directly my  father.  In  the  courts  my  affidavit  would  read 
like  a  romance;  no  proofs  to  back  it;  for  the  contract 
made  at  the  mine  was  verbal;  consequently  no  damages: 
therefore  I  am  compelled  to  be  my  own  lawyer,  judge  and 
jury.  Take  of  your  mental  freedom  a  brief  farewell! — 
Quickly  draws  vial^  saturates  cone  with  contents ,,  springs 
on  Fremont^  grasps  his  throaty  puts  knee  07i  chest,,  holds 
cone  to  nose, 

Fremont,     Stop!     What  are  you  doing? 

Sumner,  Only  applying  this  sickly  fragrant  perfume. 
The  reason  takes  quick  leave  when  chloroform  has  the 
call;  what  more  potent  drug  exists  when  wanted  for  such 
a  scheme?  It  was  well  I  was  prepared  for  the  out-come. 
When  he  awakes  his  mastery  will  be  but  mild  exertion. — 
Smells  cone,,  staggers  back,,  catches  at  table,,  takes  long 


20  CHIHUAHUA. 

breath, — Too  powerful! — Throws  cone  in  jire, — Its  effect 

may  ruin  the  effect  for  which  I  used  it. — Shakes  Fremont ; 

no  response;  draws  another  bottle  from  pockety  and  applies 

to  nostrils. — Ammonia  will  revive  him. — Fremont  shows 

signs    of  reviving ;    Sumner  draws  chair    bejore    him; 

with  eyes  fxed  on  Fremont^  and  with    hand  proceeds  to 

mesmerise  him. 

Now  to  call  into  action  that  power 

So  priceless,  so  terrible.     My  magic  fingertips, 

Fail  me  not  on  your  sleep  producing  mission. 

O,  most  wonderful  fascination  of  the  mysterious, 

Stay  the  throbbing  pulse;  lull  to  rest 

The  ceaseless  workings  of  that  cowardly  brain ; 

And  bring  unto  my  orders  the  talents  of  its  mind. 

Bring  subject  to  my  will,  his  will ; 

So  it  would  be  a  fallacy  to  state  his  will  exists; 

For  it  shall  soon  cease  to  call  that  frame 

Its  slave,  if  it  ever  has ; 

And  must  own  to  me  I  am  the  master  mind. 

Yes  with  slow  but  steady  progression 

That  mind  is  being  tranced;  that  soul 

Which  but  a  moment  past,  fired  up  at  my  words. 

Is  becoming  dead;  to  replace  itself  within 

Its  palace,  a  more  weakened  king; 

When  'tis  my  pleasure  to  release  it 

From  the  bondage  of  my  commands. 

O  body  of  Fremont;  when  you  arise 

It  will  not  be  by  the  wishes  of  your  will: 

Though  you  will  speak  and  act, 

It  will  not  be  Fremont;  not  you  alone 

Who  enacts  the  coming  drama;  only  half: 

Your  brain's  to  let;  I  take  possession; 


ACT  7.  21 

And  for  its  rental  you  will  claim  naught  from  me. 

How  sweet  is  power  to  rule  the  average  mind ! 

These  symbols  of  mediocrity  to  enslave; 

To  call  their  home  my  home : 

No  you'r  not  the  first  that's  honored  me 

With  a  lease  of  their  fast  decaying  faculties, 

And  has  given  to  me  this  occult  mastery  of  a  soul. 

I  have  not  lived  in  vain,  studied,  worked  and  thought 

For  naught;  but  at  this  age  though  young, 

Possess  a  wisdom  of  existing  things, 

Aged  sage  alone  has  right  to  call  his  own. 

Had  not  your  spirits  been  weakened 

By  fearful  thoughts  and  weird  weather; 

My  task  to  claim  your  soul,  even  with  the  aid 

Of  chloroform,  would  have  been  more  extended —  Wind, 

Thanks  to  your  influence,  rain,  hail  and  sighing  winds; 

You  are  my  fellow  conspirators  in  this  somber  tragedy 

Yet  to  be  enacted;  to  right  a  long  past  crime. 

Sumner,    Applies  various  tests  to  show  complete  control. 
The  absence  of  the  will  is  proven. 
No  more  his  master;  Fremont  and  yet  not: 
Fremont  in  body ;  Sumner  in  mind. 
By  my  authority  his  mind  is  blank; 
A  lamentable  reflection  on  its  strength. 
According  to  previous  reconnoiterings, 
His  lawyer's  name  is  Choate;  his  bookeeper  West; 
Including  many  minor  informations  gleaned. 
That  may  partially  light  the  way  to  a  proper 
Consummation  of  this  unusual  circumstance. 

Knock  without,  Sumner  gives  key  to  Fremont,^  who 
now  com  fletcly  under  control  acts  and  speaks  as  Sumner 
directs,    Sumner  steps  behind  screen,  Premont  opens  door. 


22  CHIHUAHUA. 

Enter  Lieutenant, 

Lieut,     Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Fremont. 

Premont,     How  do. 

Lieut,  Bad  weather  to  be  abroad.  This  is  my  third 
call  upon  you  today,  but  my  object  is  such  as  inspires  me 
to  defy  the  maddest  storm  that  ever  wet  a  traveller.  I 
wish  your  decision  on  a  most  important  matter. 

Sumner,     Aside,     Silverton! 

Premont.  You  are  welcome.  It's  a  gloomy  day  and 
my  disposition  is  in  sympathy  with  the  time.  But  what 
am  I  to  decide  on? 

Lieut,  Mr.  Fremont,  to  come  to  the  point  at  once;  a 
virtue  soldiers  should  try  to  cultivate:  I  love  your 
daughter  and  she  loves  me;  I  ask  your  sanction  to  our 
marriage.  I  possess  no  fortune  but  my  good  name;  my 
family  connections  are  honorable;  my  salary  is  the  limit 
of  my  financial  resources:  but  it  is  sufficient  for  two  to 
live  in  a  social  way  that  would  be  modestly  desirable. 
My  hopes  are  many;  and  should  the  War  Department 
consider  favorably  my  recommendations,  you  will  address 
me  captain  within  a  month. 

Sumner,  Aside,  So  I  am  destined  to  direct  the 
marital  aspirations  of  my  friend,  the  Lieutenant,  and  once 
again  today  usurp  Fate's  occupation. 

Fremont,  Lieutenant,  my  determination  regarding  my 
daughter's  hand  would  have  but  little  weight.  For  I  fear 
my  lease  of  life  is  fast  drawing  to  a  close.  You  have  my 
consent  with  all  the  best  wishes  of  a  father;  but  do  not 
take  this  as  a  final  answer ;  seek  Mrs.  Fremont,  and  to  her 
make  known  the  desires  of  your  heart;  for  ere  long  she 
will  be  sole  mistress  of  a  part,  of  what  of  me  financially 
remains. 


ACT  I.  23 

Lieut.  Thanks!  you  have  my  sincere  thanks,  for  your 
consent.  But  your  words  are  strange.  You  surely  give 
no  thought  to  death  at  your  age? 

Fremont,  I  do  give  death  a  thought;  too  many 
thoughts.  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  will  be  just  an  hour 
from  now?  No.  In  this  visit  here  be  useful  to  two  ends. 
Will  you  witness  my  will? 

Lieut,     Why  certainly. 

Fremont,     I  shall  draw  it  up  now. — Rings  bell. 

Enter    West. 
Fremont,     West,  send  the  boy  for  Choate;  have  him 
bring  his  seal;  the  business  is   important:  and  West,  just 
cash  this  check. —  Writes  check, — Bring  me  the  proceeds 
of  its  face. 

Exit    West, 

Lieut,  It's  not  bad  policy  to  prepare  the  welfare  of 
your  friends;  to  die  intestate  can  be  most  complicating  to 
the  lawful  heirs.  The  making  of  a  will,  is  a  duty  every 
business  man  should  be  cognizant  of. 

Fremont,  Yes,  it's  a  wise  precedent.  I  want  no 
quarrels  over  my  property.  The  honored  name  of  the 
house  of  Fremont,  must  be  preserved.  There's  an  am- 
bition I  have  laid  the  greatest  stress  upon.  In  all  my 
dealings  in  a  business  where  much  is  charged  as  shady,  I 
can  look  back  on  my  record  as  being  as  square  as  the  best 
of  them ;  though  the  favored  terms  in  which  I  speak  are 
of  myself. — Knock  without, — Come  in. 

Enter  West, 
West.    Announces,    Senator  Choate. — Enter  Choate, — 
Here    is   the    money. — Fremont  takes  bills  and  puts  in 
focket , 


24  CHIHUAHUA. 

Prerm'ont,     Senator,  how  are  ybu? 

Chodte.     As  usual.     Yourself? 

jRre?nont.  Same.  West,  will  you  act  as  witness  to 
my  will? 

West,     Yes  sir. 

Choate,  Ah,  Lieutenant!  am  pleased  to  see  you. 
Fremont,  if  you  say  same, you  don't  look  same:  you'rpale. 

Fremont,  So,  well  then  the  truth  is  I  don't  feel  very 
active  and  a  duty  I've  considered  is  the  making  of  my 
will.  I  shall  draw  it  up  at  once.  You  can  attest  and 
keep  possession  of  the  document.  These  gentlemen  will 
witness  for  it.  Its  provisions  I  care  to  have  known  only, 
to  myself. 

Choate,  Proceed,  friend  Fremont,  I  am  at  your  service. 
You  will  now  perform  a  .justice  that  heirs  necessarily 
require  from  every  moneyed  man. 

Fremont,  Writes  at  table,  Choate^  West  and  Lieut, 
withdraw  to  {^L,^ 

Choate,  Lieutenant,  you  no  doubt  attend  Mrs.  Fre- 
mont's reception  this  evening?  I  wager  there  will  be  an 
attraction  there  you'd  not  forego  for  all  the  honors  of  the 
service. 

Lieut,  Yes,  I  attend.  There's  one  who  draws  me  by 
the  witchery  of  her  eyes^  the  gentleness  of  her  voice;  the 
beauty  of  her  face ;  the  delightful  companionship  one 
always  finds  with  a  lovely  woman.  For  one  who  has  had 
for  the  last  fourteen  months,  only  the  dreary  expanse  of 
an  Arizona  desert,  for  the  face  of  beauty ;  the  hoarse  ex- 
clamations of  frontier  companions  for  the  gentleness  of  a 
voice;  and  the  companionship  of  rough  soldiers  and  cow- 
boys, for  the  charm  of  ladies'  society ;  he  is  soon  taught 
to  value  the  length  of  a  leave  of  absence. 


ACT  /.  25 

Choate.  Lieutenant,  you  are  young  and  susceptible; 
so  West?  Thie  enchantment  of  a  social  existence  is  made 
stronger  to  one  used  to  it,  and  yet  deprived  of  its  pleasures. 
When  you  are  old  as  West  or  I,  the  gloss  of  silver,  sheens 
your  now  dark  locks;  you  may  look  with  happy  recollect- 
ions perhaps  with  a  cynic's  smile  at  the  memories  of  your 
younger  years. 

West,  Just  so ;  profound  wisdom  opens  up  to  our 
minds  as  the  years  roll  on;  that  is  to  the  thoughtful  man. 
And  it  is  a  phenomenal  contrast  between  the  actions  of 
youth  and  the  criticisms  that  age  places  upon  them.  For 
me,  give  me  more  age  with   the  benefits  time  will  bring. 

Lieut,     Announce  not  to  me  what  the  future  may  say, 
I  care  not,  I  live  not,  except  for  today. 
To  learn  is  to  suffer 

Fre7nont.     Gentlemen  the  instrument  is  finished; 
It  is  brief,  but  you  know — 
The  briefer  be  the  considerations, 
The  less  there  are  of  cumbersome  litigations. 
Attest  Senator. 

Choate,  Lieutenant,  your  name  and  address  here. — 
Lieut,  signs, — Raise  your  right  hand.  Do  you  ac- 
knowledge this  to  be  your  own  signature? 

Lieut,     I  do. 

Choate, '   Mr.  West.^ —  West  signs  and  raises   hand,-^ 
This  signature,  you  acknowledge  to  be  your  own  ? 
West,     I  do. 

Choate,     Affixes  signature  and  seal, 

Fremo7it,  Seals  will  in  envelope  and  writes ,^  reads. — 
"The  last  will  and  testament  of  Jackson  Fremont.  Not  to 
be  opened  and  read  until  two  months  from  date  of  my  death. 
Signed,  Jackson  Fremont." — Gives   envelope  to  Choate 


26  CHIHUAHUA. 

Choate.  Time  yet  to  deposit  it  before  the  vaults  are 
closed.  So  I  will  leave  you,  to  meet  again  this  evening, 
when  I  hope  to  find  you  more  at  ease. 

Fremont.  Yes  gentlemen,  be  on  hand,  we'll  make  the 
night  hours  merry.     Good  afternoon. 

Choate  and  Lieiit,     Good  day. — Exit, 

West,     Any  further  business  to  receive  attention? 

Fremont,     Nothing  I  think  of  now. 
West,     Then  I'll  make  for  home ;  good  night. 

Fremofit,  Good  night. — Fxit  W^est. — Fre?nont  sinks 
back  into  chair  ^  motionless,  Sumner  comes  from  retreat  ^ 
locks  door y  looks  at  Fremont  and  joints  to  table — Fre- 
m.ont  takes  roll  of  bills  from  pocket  and  lays  on  table — 
Sumner  takes  bills — Fremont  sinks  back  into  chair, 

Sumner,       That    comes    in    conveniently.       Interested 
Uncle    give  to    me    my    watch.      Five    thousand    dollars. 
What  power  has  money  to    ease  the    rugged    path  and 
make  light  ones  many  troubles.     Without  money  life  is 
but  existence  nothing  more.     What  danger  poverty  can 
generate.     I  can  better  seek  my  mother   and   sister  now. 
Silverton  said  he  was  going   to   take   me   to  a  reception; 
didn't  say  where:  no  doubt  the  one  Choate  spoke  of;  Mrs. 
Fremont's    Reception;    possibly    Fremont's    wife!    must 
be!    then    if  so    it's    a    most    opportune    chance    for    me. 
T'would  be  a  selfish  stab  at  fortune  to  ask  for  fairer  luck. 
Fremont  though  not  in  the  usual  way  you'll  prance  tonight. 
O  senseless  form  before  me,  man  unmaned; 
Convey  to  me,  and  an  enlightened  world. 
Some  unknown  wonders. 
Act  to  me  something  destined  for  a  futurity; 
Of  this  awful,  this  nighted  science. 
Make  to  me,  by  me  and  for  me,  as  has  been  held, 


ACT  /.  27 

A  representative  state  in  a  legitimate  way. 

Arise  when  I  enjoin,  and  issue  forth 

The  silver  flow  of  language, 

Alike  to  Demosthenes  or  Cicero. 

With  hand  of  unnatural  nerve,  untutored 

By  proper  guidance ;  write  me 

A  Macbeth,  a  Hamlet  or  King  Lear; 

And  blight  the  name  of  Shakespeare 

With  a  more  glorious  fame. 

Touch  the  violin  and  by  the  act 

Gift  Paganini  to  the  present  generation.     Write 

Rhythmical  lines,  kin  to  Byron  and  to  Burns, 

To  Longfellow,  Bryant  or  to  Gray. 

Can  I  cause  you;  poor  vacated  head. 

Moved  by and  I,  to  sway  the  multitudes 

By  command:    and  let  you  grace  or  better  still 

Deface  a  Napoleon's  throne. 

And  I  the  jDOwer  behind  it? 

Man  of  two  brains,  what  is  your  limit? 

O,  what  are  the  possibilities  of  this  age? 

Gets  coat  and  Jiat^  looks  at  Fremont  a  moment^  motions 
with  hand  and  says — Awake. — Quickly  withdraws  from 
the  room, 

Fremont,  Slowly  awakes ^  appears  dazed ^  stretches^ 
looks  about,,  suddefily  spring's  up  with  a  shriek, — What! 
alone?  What  does  it  mean?  Where  have  I  been?  Have 
I  not  just  been  conversing  with  a  man  who  calls  himself 
John  Emory's  son?  Did  he  not  seize  me  by  the  throat 
and  attempt  to  strangle  me? — Goes  to  glass, — No  marks! — 
Sees  tin  box, — Now  I  recollect!  I  recollect!  I  was  examin- 
ing the  box.  Yet  I  cannot  be  wrong,  some  one  has  been 
here!  West!  I  say,  West! — Goes  to  door  and  looks  out, — 


28  CHIHUAHUA. 

He  has   left  for   home.     Six   o'clock!  one   hour  past   my 

usual  closing.     He  should  have  told  me  he  was  going  to 

leave;    he  always   does.     No  doubt   he  did  not  wish    to 

disturb  me. 

Could  it  have  been  a  dream  ? 

Yes,  only  such:  and  yet  why  when  Morpheus 

Visits  me  in  the  drowsy  afternoon  hours, 

Must  great  visions  of  damnable  scenes 

Go  floating  through  my  mind  ? 

A  phantasmagoria  of  fantastic  thoughts; 

That  take  the  place  of  sweeter  dreams. 

O,  Hell,  thy  bodily  tortures  damned, 

Must  be  mild  indeed,  in  comparison 

To  this  mental  misery ! — Sees  letter, — You  again ! 

Why  have  I  kept  you  to  this  late  date. 

To  fret  with  your  fast  aging  threats? 

This  is  the  end,  no  more:  when  you  are  gone. 

Consumed  in  flames;  my  mind 

In  more  exact  and  peaceful  channels. 

May  hold  its  way. —  Throws  letter  injire. 

Burn  you  cause  of  folly  to  a  fool. 

And  in  ashes  lose  the  last  record 

Of  a  disagreeable  epoch  writ  of  my  life; 

That  I  preserved  for  use  in  court. 

Now  to  dine  at  the  club,  then  for  home: 

May  the  mirth  of  the  coming  night's  enjoyment 

Scatter  seeds  for  happier  thoughts 

Throughout  my  early  morning  dreams. 

END    OF    ACT    I. 


ACT   II. 

Scene — Drawing  room  of  the  Fremont  mansio?i  Fifth 
Ave,      The  same  evening, 

Fremont,     Home:    a  sweet  place  to  call  my  own; 
To  find  rest  in  after  running  such  a  gauntlet 
Of  storms;  the  true  harbor; 
A  haven  many  possess ;  many  more  seek ; 
And  the  majority  are  never  fortunate  enough 
To  call  their  ow^n.     Some  without  homes 
Have  many  tribulations;  others  blessed 
With  homes,  are  often  troubled  quite  as  much, 
I  rank  w^ith  the  latter. 

Enter  Mrs,  Fremont, 

Mrs,  Fremont.     Jackson,  how  late  you  are!   it  is  eight; 
I  had  quite  brought  myself  to  the  conclusion 
You  had  deserted  us  for  the  club. 
You  look  weary,  haggard,  pale;  has  anything 
Happened  to  discord  the  day  with  you  ? 

Fremont,     Yes — no — yet  not  exactly  so. 
I  cannot  explain;  my  brain's  bewildered. 
My  thoughts  cannot  call  to  themselves 
The  usual  path  of  daily  existence. 
Today — this  afternoon — late;  I,  alone 
Within  my  private  office,  did  have  happen 
A  most  mysterious — well  I  know  not  what 
To  call  it;  I  may  say  with  equal  truth 
A  phantom  or  a  reality : 
So  swiftly  did  the  impression  come  and  go. 


30  CHIHUAHUA, 

T'was  Ro  less  than  that  long  dead  son  of  yours, 
Emory's  boy,  entered  and  announced  himself; 
Threatened  me  with  vengeance  for  his  father's  death 
As  though  it  was  I,  that  killed  him — claim  half 
My  fortune,  yours  and  Hazel's  inheritance. 

Mrs,  Fremont,     Emory!    Emory's  child,  Walter!  is  he 
alive? 
At  this  late  date  has  he  returnee,  and   vindictive? 
Did  he  ask  for  me?     Are  you  positive  you  saw  him? 
What  did  you  do?     What  did  you  say? 

Fremont,     Be  .not  so  rapid  in  your  queries :  that  it  was  he 
I  have  no  doubt.     But  that  he  was  there. 
That  he  did  speak  to  me,  and  threaten  me. 
Is  not  in  my  power  to  state.      There  lies 
The  mystification.     That  he  attempted  to  strangle  me. 
Seemed  to  me  evident:  yet  when  I  awoke 
If  it  was  an  awakening;  the  light  of  the  room 
Was  fast  darkening  into  night's  shadows ; 
I  was  alone.     Everything  lay  undisturbed; 
I  called  to  West,  he  had  left  for  home. 

Mrs,  Fremont,     Jackson,  you  shame  me  for  you,  that  a 
dream 
Should  unnerve  you  so:  you  affect  too  much 
That  unwise  past;  stop  it,  see  to  your  diet. 
This  report  is  a  travesty  on  your  sanity. 

Fremont,     So  I  should  judge,  a  dream ;  but  what   you 
Call  it,  does  not  make  it.     I  found  no  marks 
Upon  my  throat;  but  for  all  this  bleak  afternoon 
It  has  seemed  to  me,  reason. 

Cool  and  deliberate  left  the  boundaries  of  my  soul; 
Sentiment  took  its  place; 
And  I  became  as  one  hypnotized,  helpless, 


ACT  II.  31 

Swayed  and  bent  as  reeds  in  a  storm ; 

The  servant  of  those  powerful  weakening  passions, 

That  go  to  make  up  the  minds  of  men. 

Mrs.  Fremont,     Fremont   are   you   losing  your   mind? 
You  act  as  terrified  as  a  child  in  the  dark. 
Come,  go  dress,  liven  up. 
Cast  away  that  fretful  and  haunted  look, 
As  if  you  saw  the  ghost  of  death  walking 
By  your  side.     You  act  strange  of  late; 
Mumbling  along,  with  bent  head  and  corrugated   brow 
Quite  like  a  man  of  ninety  years. 
Your  thoughts  are  not  to  be  valued  to  the  price 
Of  their  exertion.     Leave  now   be  quick. 
Here  arrive  the  first  guests. 

Fremont,  Hands  behind  back^  walking  as  in  deep 
thought, — I  do  not   know.     I   cannot   understand. — Exit, 

Enter  Sumner  and  Lieut, 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Good  evening,  Lieutenant,  you  honor 
us  as  the  first  to  receive  your  hostess'  greeting. 

Lieut,  Rather  honor  to  myself,  Mrs.  Fremont.  Allow 
me,  my  old  time  friend  and  companion,  Mr.  Sumner. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you  Mr. 
Sumner.     You  are  cordially  welcome  to  our  festivities. 

Sumner,  My  happiness  to  be  so  welcome,  Mrs.  Fre- 
mont, is  most  sincere. 

Lieut.  Yes,  Mr.  Sumner  is  quite  a  stranger  in  New 
York ;  but  recently  arrived  from  Tombstone,  the  famous 
Arizona  mining  center. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  I  should  judge  social  life  in  that  far- 
away spot  would  be  found  wanting. 


32  CHIHUAHUA. 

Entei'  Hazel. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  My  daughter,  Miss  Hazel  Emory, 
Mr.  Sumner. 

Sumner,     Miss  Emory,  I  am  happy  to  meet  you. 

Hazel,     Mr.  Sumner. 

Sumner,  Aside,  Emory !  that  is  a  strange  coincidence. 
Hazel  Emory. 

Lieut,      Takes  HazePs  dancing-  card  and  writes, 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Now  with  your  indulgence,  I  shall 
leave  you  to  yourselves  a  moment,  so  many  require  a 
hostess'  attention. — Exit, 

Lieut,     There  I  am  fortified  against  the  rush. 

Hazel.  Lieutenant,  how  prompt  you  are;  excepting 
the  Senator  you  are  the  first  to  note  a  name; 

Sumner.  Ah,  Miss  Emory,  am  I  not  to  be  almost  as 
Drompt? 

Hazel,  Certainly,  Mr.  Sumner. — Hands  card  to 
Sumner, 

Sumner.  Starts  to  write^  glances  curiously  at  the 
Lieut. — Aside. — Ten  dances. —  To  Lieut, — Lieutenant,  you 
are  prompt  indeed ;  had  I  the  fortune  to  be  quite  as  such, 
I'd  value  much  my  bearing  with  the  ladies'  thoughts. 
Miss  Emory,  I'll  mark  for  two;  the  Moonlight  Waltz 
and  the  Bohemian  Square.     Thanks. 

Enter  Airs,  Ere7?iont, 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Now  permit  me,  Mr.  Sumner,  to  take 
you  with  me,  and  make  you  at  home  with  the  other  guests. 

Stmmer,  Charmed  I'd  be;  with  your  permission.  Miss 
Emory,  Lieutenant. 

Lieut,  Go,  and  let<ne  warrant  you  will  never  want  a 
better  guide,  a  more  perfect  hostess. 


AC 7'  //.  33 

Suinner,     Your  estimate  could  not  err  in  that. 
Exit  Mrs.  Fremont  and  Sumner. 

Hazel.  Now  Ray,  what  kept  you?  I  expected  you 
today.     Forgot  me  did  you  not? 

Lieut.  Forgot  you  darhng,  t'would  be  better  said  to 
say  I  missed  I  Hved,  so  much  more  appUcable  to  such  a 
charge.  1  did  my  best  to  gain  the  freedom  of  the  after- 
noon, to  make  a  companion  to  your  sweet  company;  but 
I  ran,  and  ran,  and  ran,  only  to  find  him  at  the  last. 

Hazel.  Found,  whom?  Who  could  have  kept  my 
love  on  such  a  fruitless  chase? 

Lie,ut.  It  was  not  a  fruitless  chase,  and  yet  it  was  in  a 
measure  of  the  word ;  your  father  was  the  object  of  my 
many  journeys. 

Hazel.  Papa!  what  could  you  want  with  him?  so 
urged  by  such  anxiety. 

Lieut.     I  shall  let  you  guess  the  secret  of  this  afternoon. 

Hazel.     Now  Ray,  did  you?     O  what  did  he  say? 

Lieut.  Told  me  to  ask  your  mother;  and  if  I  am  to 
have  another  such  a  chase,  I'll  take  you  and  run  off  and 
let  consent  wait  upon  me  after  the  knot  is  tied. 

Hazel.  Never  mind,  dear,  such  a  duty  is  one  sweetness 
of  courtship. 

Lieut.  Yes  love,  an  uncertain  sweetness;  a  sweet 
bordered  with  a  bitter,  which  might  mix  and  gain  for  me 
no  happiness  onlv  des23erate  resolution.  Hazel  dear, 
though  your  father  denied  not  his  consent,  I  fear  your 
mother  w^iU  oppose  us;  financial  reasons  you  know. 
Though  not  suspecting  our  love,  she  will  soon  reason  or 
condemn  the  tact,  when  hearmg  ot  the  future  possibility. 
Your  father  will  mention  it  to  her. 


34  ■  CHIHUAHUA. 

Hazel,  Don't  worry  Ray,  I  shall  make  it  all  right 
with  Mama. 

Lieut,  Yes,  in  my  opinion  if  all  the  young  ladies  could 
make  it  right  with  Mama,  what  a  world  of  gloomy  re- 
flections, some  young  men  might  be  saved. 

Hazel,  Quite  true.  Can  Mr.  Sumner  dance?  I  see 
he  is  down  for  that  dreadful  Bohemian,  in  which  the 
figures  are  so  hard  to  remember;  suppose  he  could  not, 
just  imagine  the  result  of  an  attempt;  I  don't  believe  he 
can.  Mama  said  after  you  left,  that  you  said  he  was  from 
Arizona. 

Lieut,  Now  my  darling,  don't  I  dance?  and  I  am  from 
Arizona.  1  have  never  seen  Monte  dance,  but  I  will 
wager  a  month's  salary  he  is  more  proficient  in  that  line 
than  I.  If  he  has  seen  as  much  dancing  with  the  Spanish 
Senoritas  as  I  have— 

Hazel,     Ray !    Spanish  girls,  you 


Lieut,  Have  seen  the  boys  at  the  Post  do,  he  will  not 
fail  you  this  evening. 

Hazel,  I  hope  not.  Isn't  he  handsome?  such  sparkling 
black  eyes,  they  seem  to  look  into  your  very  soul,  to  read 
one's  thoughts.     He  is  coming  now. 

Enter  Sumner, 

Sumner,     Pardon,  have  I  interrupted? 
Hazel,     Not  at  all. 

Enter  Choate, 

Ckoate.  Found  you  at  last,  Miss  Emory?  Our  dance 
is  it  not? 

HazeL     So    it   is,     Senator;     excuse     me,    gentlemen. 


ACT  II.  35 

Exit  Hazel  and  Choate, 

Lieut,  Well  Monte,  has  our  charming  hostess  made 
the  passing  moments  pleasant?  Any  hearts  seeking 
hope?  I  swear  those  black  eyes  were  made  for  other 
things  than  mere  guidance  of  the  way. 

Sujnner,  I  will  flatter  myself,  my  visit  has  not  been  m 
vain.  Do  you  know  Miss  Prescott  is  a  very  charming 
girl,  a  beauty — 

Lieut,  Come  now,  don't  lose  your  heart;  give  the 
others  a  chance. 

Sumner,  Now  old  fellow,  take  a  little  of  that  home, — ■- 
ten  dances, — ha!  ha!  My  heart  was  crushed  years  ago, 
its  passion  for  affection  was  blighted ;  had  I  one  I'd  not 
wait  to  give  the  others  a  chance. 

L^ieut,  Yes  I  know  they  are  always  so;  but  a  little 
more  of  Miss  Prescott's  company  will  make  you  another. 

Sufnner,  Possibly.  In  my  introduction  to  Mrs.  Fre- 
mont, it  seemed  to  me  I  had  seen  her  face  before,  at  some 
time  or  place  in  past  years. 

Lieut,  Quien  sabe.  She  was  a  widow^  when  Fremont 
married  her.  Miss  Emory  is  her  daughter  by  her  firsf 
husband.  Emory  was  a  mining  man  and  died  of  fever  in 
Mexico,  years  ago. 

Sumner,  Quite  a  history. — Aside, —  Very  Coolly,—- 
I  had  hardly  exuected  to  find  the  man  who  ruined  my 
father,  had  married  my  mother,  and  I  a  guest  at  her  re- 
ception tonight;  that  Hazel  Emory  is  my  sister. 

Lieut,      You  are  thoughtful. 

Sumner,  Oniy  a  reverie.  A  thought  of  the  past.  I 
had  once  a  very  dear  friend  by  the  name  of  Fremont,  who 
did  me  a  service  I  shall  never  be  fible  to  I'epay;  I  was 


36  CHIHUAHUA. 

wondering  if  our  host  could  be  the  man.     Such  strange 
coincidences  do  happen.     I've  not  met  him  yet. 

Lieut,  There  stands  Mr.  Fremont  now,  conversing 
witli  Mrs.  Madison. 

Sumner.  It  is  he!  wonderful!  I  have  fallen  amongst 
old  friends. 

Lieut,  Congratulations  extended.  Your  path  to  Miss 
Prescott's  heart  is  strewn  with  roses.  Here,  I  must  go,  my 
dance  the  next. — Exit, 

Sumner,     So  my  mother  is  my  hostess; 
Unknown  to  her  the  lost's  returned. 
My  sister  Hazel,  that  young  lady ;  and  I 
Unknowingly  consented  to  her  marriage. 
As  for  Ray,  I'd  ask  to  see  no  better  groom. 
Fremont  my  stepfather;  thanks  Fate 
For  your  kind  selection. 
Of  such  a  lovely  sister,  queenly  mother. 
Kindly  grandmother  I  should  be  proud. 
There  can  be  policy  in  pride:  spare  Fremont, 
And  to-morrow  I'd  be  escorted  to  the  Tombs; 
I'd  lose  my  grip  within  a  day ; 
Discovery  w^ould  not  be  long  delayed ; 
Choate  would  talk  to  Fremont,  if  not  already. 
It  is  a  peculiar  situation,  and  must  receive 
Immediate  attention.     The  end  may  possibly 
Fulfill  the  meaning  occasioning  the  act. 
O,  not  alone  the  sins  but  the  misfortunes 
Of  the  father  are  visited  upon  the  children: 
And  often  to  retrieve  the  fault,  genius  and 
Conspiracy  will  go  to  risky  ends  to  gain 
A  beginning;  and  those  ends  are  seldom  knowm 
Now! —    •         . 


ACT  II.  37 

JSnter^Premont  (^).  Head  bowed  in  thought ^seats  hhn- 
self  (Z),  does  Tfot  see  Su?n7ter ^  Sumner  glides  behind 
chair ^  and  begins  silent  manipulations ;  Fremont  falls 
asleep ;  Su7?2ner  points  {^)/  Fremont  ivalks  there  and 
stops ^  with  back  to  table ;  Sumner  places  small  vial  on 
table  in  (C)  and  walks  to  i^I.^  looking  sidewise  at  Fre- 
inont^  who  goes  slowly  to  table^  takes  vial  and  exits  (  C). 

Stimner.     Within  the  seclusion  of  his  room  he  will 
Rest,  till  such  time  happens  this  evening 
To  place  a  desired  opportunity  within 
My  administration.     It's  a  wise  child 
That  can  manage  his  stepfather. 

Enter  Lieut,  and  Lotta,,  Choate  and  Hazel, —  Cicero 
crosses  back  oj"  stage  as  others  enter. 

Hazel,  Cicero,  let  me  know  when  the  Moonlight 
Waltz  is  called. 

Cicero,     Yes,  Missa  Hazel. — Exit, 

Sumner,  Come,  disciples  of  Terpsichore,  how  is  the 
evening  passing? 

Hazel.  Delightful,  I  assure  you.  Have  you  met  my 
cousin,  Mr.  Sumner? 

Stunner,,  Thanks  to  the  attention  of  Mrs.  Fremont,  my 
acquaintance  with  Miss  Prescott,  has  dated  from  the  early 
evening.  I  had  the  honor  of  the  first  dance,  and  it  was 
very  enjoj^ahle. 

Lotta.     Quite  so  indeed. 

Lieut,  But  where  have  you  kept  hidden?  the  ladies 
have  noted  your  absence. 

Sumner,  Did  the  ladies  miss  me  as  I  have  often  missed 
them,  they  would  be  forlorn  indeed.     My  time  has  been 


38  CHIHUAHUA. 

the  property  of  your  father,  Miss  Emory.  In  him,  thanks 
to  Lieutenant  Silverton,  I  have  discovered  a  friend  of  long 
years  ago. 

Hazel,     How  romantic,  an  old  friend  of  Papa's! 

Lotta.     Do  tell  us  about  it! 

Sumner,  I  will  cry  pardon!  Let  the  recital  await  a 
more  convenient  place  and  time,  for  the  tale  is  long  and 
speaks  of  a  generous  act,  few  men  are  capable  of:  the 
service  Mr.  Fremont  rendered  me. 

Enter  Cicero. 

Cicero,  Ladies  and  gemmens  de  conductah  done  am 
call  de  Moonlight  waltz. — Exit, 

Sumner,  Ours  now.  Miss  Emory. —  To  Lieut,  and 
Lotta, — We  will  leave  you  to  pleasant  conversation  or 
follow  in  our  wake  as  pleases  you  best. — Exit, 

Lieut,     Shall  we  dance,  or  have  a  quiet  chat? 

L^otta,  I  am  a  trifle  tired,  I  would  rather  talk  for  a 
change. 

Lieut,     You  are  of  my  thinking. 

Lotta,  Tell  me,  will  you  not  feel  just  a  jealous  pang, 
just  a  little  uncomfortable,  to  have  so  handsome  a  man 
with  one  you'll  not  deny  you  love? 

Lieut,  Non-troubling  fancies:  suspect  Monte,  so 
square  a  friend,  of  trifling  with  the  affections  of  one  I 
love;  to  believe  he  would  seek  to  break  the  bond  that 
exists  between  us?  No,  Miss  Prescott;  Mr.  Sumner  is  not 
a  friend  of  doubtful  tendency.  He  is  one  of  Nature's 
noblemen;  an  honest  generous  man;  a  man  of  the  world; 
one  who  by  force  of  circumstances  has  had  to  suffer  and 
endure:  he  has  passed  through  great  trials,  though  I  know 
little  of  his  history. 


ACT  II. 


3d 


Lotta,  Is  he  not  cynical  ?  I  remarked  what  appeared 
such  expression  flit  across  his  countenance,  once  this 
evening;  when  he  spoke  of  friendship  and  the  vahie  he 
phiced  upon  it. 

Lieut,  Men  who  have  experienced  the  ups  and  downs 
of  Hfe,  are  to  a  degree  the  servant  of  unfeeHng  thoughts. 
Yet  I  have  known  when  times  were  the  hardest  his  levity 
was  greatest. 

Lotta,     Has  he  parents  living? 
Lieut,     I  understand  he  has  no  near  relatives. 
Lotta,     How  sad,  and  he  has  had  to  fight  life's  battle 
alone? 

Lieut,  Yes  and  won,  for  he  is  quite  wealthy;  specu- 
lates in  mines;  has  an  interest  in  many  Mexican  lodes. 

Lotta,  Then  he  is  fortunate;  his  occupation  is  much  in 
keeping  with  his  dignity. 

Lieut,     By  the  way,  I  believe  you  said  he  was  handsome? 
Why  yes,  don't  you  think  so? 
He  has  a  like  opinion. 
Of  himself?  did  he  ever  say — 
No,  of  you. 

You  don't  mean — did  he  really — 
Just  what  I  said.     Here  comes  Grandma. 

Enter  Mrs.  Kelt  on.  • 


Lotta, 
Lieut, 
Lotta, 
Lieut, 
L^otta, 
Lieut, 


Mrs.  Kelto7i,     Enjoying  yourselves,  children? 

Lotta.  Yes  indeed.  Grandma;  but  did  I  not  see  you 
dancing  the  minuet  with  Mr.  Powers?  how  could  you 
be  so  giddy  ? 

Mrs.  Kcltoji.  O  dear  me,  and  why  not,  pray?  I  abwell 
as  you?  I  am  spry  yet,  my  dear,  if  it  was  sixty  odd  years 
ago  I  danced  the  minuet  at  Andrew  Jackson's  Inauguration 


40  CHIHUAHUA, 

Ball.  Yes,  dear,  though  I  am  close  on  to  eighty 
years,  I  can  still  do  my  part  when  called  upon  by  such  a 
courtly  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  as  Mr.  Obadiah 
Powers. 

Lieut,  If  we,  Miss  Prescott,  fifty  or  sixty  years  hence 
can  do  as  much,  it  will  show  the  sophistry  of  the  pessi- 
mists who  entertain  notions  of  the  decay  of  longevity  in 
the  present  state  of  society. 

Mi's,  Kelton.  You  are  right,  Lieutenant;  we  then  lived 
just  as  high  and  had  quite  as  many  luxuries  as  you  folks 
of  this  later  generation,  yet  we  lived,  and  you  will  do  as 
well. 

Enter  Mrs,  Freinont  and  Sumner, 

Mrs,  Premont,     Mother,  resting  from  the  dance? 

Mrs,  Kclton.  Yes,  daughter,  I  enjoyed  it  exceedingly ; 
it  took  me  back  just  sixty  years. 

Sutnner,  And  let  me  add,  I  did  not  see  more  happy 
grace  and  perfect  motion  mid  all  the  beauty  of  the  room, 
then  Mrs.  Kelton  did  add  to  the  minuet. 

Mrs,  Kclton,     Then  we  all  are  happy. 

Sumner,  Now,  Miss  Prescott,  the  next  is  ours,  allow 
me,  my  arm. 

Lotta,     With  pleasure. 

Sumner,     With  your  permission,  ladies.  Lieutenant? 

Exit   Su7nner  and  Lotta, 

Lieut,  My  partner  too,  needs  be  found ;  is  now  await- 
ing me. — Exit, 

Mrs,  Eremo7it,  This  young  man  seems  to  carry  well 
his  part;  of  most  agreeable  manners  for  one  whose  life 
has  been  spent  on  the  frontier. 


ACT  II.  41 

Afrs,  Kelton,  There  can  be  gentlemen  on  the  border. 
I  believe  I've  seen,  that  face  before,  but  where? 

Mrs,  Premont.  vSo  to  me,  his  features  make  mention 
to  my  mind,  of  one  at  some  time  met;  yet  meeting  so 
many,  don't  tend  to  good  memory.  -  He  is  the  gentleman 
Lieutenant  Silverton,  asked  me  yesterday  if  I  would 
introduce  to  our  circle;  he's  reported  rich. 

il/ri".  Keltoji.  Where  is  Jackson?  I  have  not  seen  him 
on  the  floor  to-night;  many  have  asked  for  him. 

Mrs.  Fre?nont,  Don't  speak  of  him,  he's  lost  his  nerve, 
and  yet  says  he  is  a  man.  He  returned  from  the  office 
frightened  by  a  dream ;  I  believe  the  man  is  losing  his 
mind.  He  walks  the  floor  at  night  for  hours;  most  try- 
ing recreation  to  my  nerves:  talks  in  his  sleep;  complains 
of  specters  and  fears,  that  make  his  peace  a  fight  for 
more  quiet  thoughts. 

Mrs.  Kelton.     What  is  the  cause? 

Mrs.  Preinont,     O  that  old  trouble ;  he  fears 
A  mysterious  vengeance  of  that  husband  of  mine, 
That  died  years  ago.     He  robbed  Emory 
Of  his  rightful  share,  as  you  well  know. 
That's  a  past  to  which  no  remedy  can  apply ; 
A  private  history  to  be  lost. 
I  loved  Emory;  if  love  is  liking  lightly; 
But  what  gave  he  to  me  in  ten  years 
Of  married  life?       The  troubles  of  a  humble  wife 
Of  a  still  more  humble  husband.      Fremont  made  me 
Socially.     What  is  life  to  live  as  I  then  lived?     So  lowly. 
So  unknown,  and  I  ambitious.     If  Fremont 
Was  smart  enough  to  get  the  money  and  keep  it, 
'Twas his  fortune;     You  know  my  determination. 
Hazel  or  Lotta  shall  never  marry  but  for  gold. 


42  CHIHUAHUA. 

I've  experienced  too  much  of  genteel  poverty 

To  sink  them  into  loving  arms,  backed 

By  empty  purses.     I've  no  respect  for  the  man 

That  is  a  man;  and  does  not  make  his  w^ay. 

How  he  makes  it,  I'd  not  inquire  into; 

So  he  makes  it  and  keeps  it. 

A  man  of  an^?  brains  has  no  business  to  be  poor. 

Many  a  great  fortune  has  dark  shadows  over  it: 

But  the  possessors  should  keep  it  darker. 

I  tell  you  Jackson  is  weak;  he  is  one  of  those 

Who  has  done  an  unprincipled  act,  and  when 

Long  past,  must  shudder  o'er  the  remembrance. 

The  date  is  late  to  mend  the  past 

I  would  not,  could  I. 

Emory  and  the  boy  are  dead,  forget  them. 

Mrs,  Kelton,  Come,  don't  excite  yourself  or  you  will 
have  a  return  of  your  spells.  My  opinions  differ  but  it  is 
not  for  me  to  argue  dead  issues  of  the  Fremont  family; 
you  had  better  find  Jackson  and  cause  him  to  appear,  his 
absence  is  noticeable, 

Mrs,  Fremont,     He  is  no  doubt    in    the  smoking  room. 

Mrs.  Kelton,  I  will  go  into  the  library  to  rest  and 
think.  Such  a  multitude  of  memories  you  have  brought 
about. — Exit, 

Enter  Choate. 

Choatc.  My  entertainment  is  in  your  care  this  evening, 
and  permit  me  to  say,  I  am  having  a  delightful  time. 

Mrs,  Eremont,  You  look  your  words.  Senator,  and  I 
am  pleased ;  the  evening  is  a  great  success: 

Choate,  But  I  have  not  seen  Mr.  Fremont,  to-night, 
where  can  he  have  kept  himself? 


AC'r  II.  43 

]\frs,  Fremont,  I  saw  him  in  the  hall  a  short  time  ago, 
he  complained  of  not  feeling  well. 

Choate.  What!  no  better?  I  wished  him  jollier  wits 
for  the  evening. 

Mrs.  Fremont.     You  have  met  him  to-day  ? 

Choate.  Was  at  his  office  late  this  afternoon,  on  an  im- 
portant errand,  to  attest  his  will. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  His  will !  he  said  nothing  to  me  about  it. 
He  was  always  very  superstitious  regards  the  making  of 
such  a  document  until  the  last  moment.  I  often  had 
thought  he  would  die  intestate.  He  is  becoming  quite 
thoughtful  of  the  future. 

Choate.     Strange  he  did  not  mention  it. 

Mrs.  Fremont.  Yet  hardly  so.  I  have  been  so  busy 
with  the  preparations  for  the  evening,  he  no  doubt  thought 
best  to  wait  till  quieter  hours  to  tell  me  of  it.  What  were 
its  provisions? 

Choate.  That  I  do  not  know.  He  desired  the  bequests 
to  be  known  to  himself  alone. 

Mrs.  Fremont.     Who  witnessed  for  it? 

Choate.  Lieutenant  Silverton  and  Mr.  West.  The 
will  is  not  to  be  read  until  two  months  from  the  date  of 
his  death. 

Mrs.  Fremont.     For  what  reason? 

Choate.  One  known  only  to  himself;  but  then  that  is 
not  in  the  least  uncommon,  to  delay  the  reading  until  a  cer- 
tain period  elapses. 

Mrs.  Fremont.  Do  you  think  his  deportment  any  way 
strange  of  late? 

Choate.  For  the  past  week  his  countenance  has  been 
clouded  as  with  a  serious  subject  on  his  mind ;  but  whether 


44  CHIHUAHUA. 

the  result  of  business  depression  or  other  causes  I  cannot 
say. 

Mrs.  Premont.  He  has  these  melancholy  fits  periodi- 
cally. 

Choate,  Well  the  effect  of  a  day's  trading  on  the  ex- 
change is  very  exhausting. 

Enter  Cicero, 

Cicero.  Missa  Fremont,  de  supper  room  am  ready  fo 
yo  imspecshum. 

Mrs.  Fremont.  Very  well. — Exit  Cicero. —  You  may 
escort  me,  Senator. 

Choate.     You  honor  me. — Exit. 

Enter  Sumner  and  Lotta. 

Sumner.  Such  are  the  affairs  of  men ;  the  variations  of 
a  career  calculated  to  make  any  man  thus  experienced, 
envious  of  one  who  possesses  a  home  and  friends. 

Lotta.     But  has  not  your  life  had  some  brightness? 

Sumner.  Believe  me  when  I  say  to-night  has  been  the 
happiest  of  my  life.  I  have  suffered  much;  and  in  what 
few  places  I  have  had  the  fortune  to  be  present  where  all 
was  going  merry;  and  for  the  time  being  I  felt  a  real  taste 
of  enjoyment;  a  black  cloud  w\as  sure  to  arise  to  cast  its 
gloom  around  me.  So  used  to  it  have  I  become,  I  can  be- 
lieve myself  capable  of  no  happiness,  but  I  must  surely 
suffer  for  it.  I  feel  even  to-night,  a  dread  as  if  some- 
thing would  happen,  I  can  guess  not  what,  to  mar  the 
evening's  pleasure. 

Lotta.  I  fear  you  are  too  sensitive.  I'sympathize  with 
you.  But  some  of  your  experiences  have  no  doubt  been 
remarkable.     Would  you  mind  relating  one? 


ACT  IT,  45 

Sumner,  For  me  to  relate  some  of  my  life's  past 
chapters  would  be  to  spoil  the  evening  for  you ;  to  shake 
your  nerves.     I  w^ould  spare  you  that,  Miss.  Prescott. 

Lotta.  You  have  known  the  time  you  have  had  no 
place  you  could  call  home? 

Sitmner.  I  never  knew  the  actual  existence,  to  me  of 
thiit,  which  is  represented  as  a  home.  The  world  is  my 
home.  .  My  father  died  many  years  ago;  my  mother  when 
I  was  a  child.  Sorrowful  indeed  is  the  lot  of  one,  who  in 
childhood's  years  possesses  not  the  parent's  guidance.  O, 
why  was  I  not  as  fortunate  as  the  thousands  around  me? 
No,  I  was  doomed  to  struggle  alone;  and  it  has  been  a 
cycle  of  very  bitter  years.  What!  not  tears,  Miss  Prescott? 
Pardon  me,  I  did  not  intend — 

Lotta,  No,  no,  Mr.  Sumner;  only  when  you  spoke, 
you  unconsciously  brought  the  recital  to  a  simile:  for  my 
life  has  been  as  yours;  I  too  am  alone  in  the  world. 

JEnter  Lieut,  and  Hazel, 

Hazel,     What  a  charming  tete-a-tete  we  must  be  having. 

Lieut,  We've  been  hunting  the  supper  and  ball-room 
for  you,  in  every  nook  and  corner. 

Sumner,     And  here  we're  found. 

Hazel,  The  Lieutenant  has  been  expatiating  on  the 
beauties  of  friendship,  in  which  he  cites  you,  Mr.  Sumner, 
as  an  example  quite  strong  in  that  relation. 

Lotta,     We  too  were  talking    about  home  and  friends. 

Lieut,  I  have  often  wondered  who  is  our  best,  our 
greatest  friend,  I  mean  the  friend  of  friends. 

Hazel,     Why,  what  a  question!  our  parents  of  course. 

Sumner,     That  is  debatable. 

Lotta,     What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Sumner?, 


46  CHIHUAHUA, 

Sumner,     You  ask  mine,  tho'  I  voice  opinions, 
Don't  call  me  cynic: 

For  I  am  not  alone  in  like  consideration. 
As  the  Lieutenant  holds  my  due  respect 
P'or  he  owns  it  surely,  being  my  close  friend; 
And  indeed  you  are  all  my  friends, 
Too  valued  to  be  lost;  and  quite  properly 
Exceptions  to  this  radical  opinion. 
Friendship  has  a  multitude  of  temptations. 
This  is  a  w^eary  world,  to  one  in  distress, 
To  one  ambitious;  and  in  a  measure 
Of  my  experience,  I  have  found  one 
Who  in  pleasure,  in  sickness,  or  in  loneliness; 
And  moreover  in  all  the  sharper  vicissitudes 
And  experiences  of  my  life,  was  always  for  me. 
And  remained  my  advocate  until  the  last:  in  fact. 
My  friend  is  the  friend  of  any  individual. 
Who  will  treat  this  friend  with  due  respect. 

Lieut,     To  whom  do  you  refer? 

Lotta,     Your  father,  Mr.  Sumner? — Shakes  head. 

Hazel,     Your    mother,  without  doubt? — Shakes   head, 

Sumner,  If  you  would  know  and  yet  you  do,  but  have 
not  made  the  extended  acquaintance  I  have,  and  may  your 
destiny  forbid  the  necessity. —  Takes  from  his  pocket  and 
holds  aloft  a  $20  gold  piece, — The  great  American  eagle. 

Hazel,     Why,  Mr.  Sumner,  what  a  cynic  you  are! 

Sumner,     There,  I  knew  you'd  cry  cynicism. 

Lieut,  Monte  is  right,  for  money  will  reach  where 
friend  or  parent  cannot  find  a  way.  I  recall  an  incident 
that  happened  some  years  ago  in  an  obscure  frontier  town 
in   Arizona;    La  Paz,  was  the  place,   I   believe.      Monte 


ACT  II.  47 

was  there  though  he  did  not  witness  the  scene.  It  dealt 
with  this  question  in  a  peculiar  way. 

Sumner,  I  remember  the  occurrence. — Aside. — I  fixed 
the  fool  in  time. 

Lieut,  I  was  sitting  in  the  shade  of  the  east  wall  of  a 
low  adobe,  about  half  asleep;  Monte  had  left  but  a  few 
moments  before,  to  go  up  to  the  plaza  to  see  a  bronco  sale; 
when  a  thin,  pale,  haggard  and  roughly  dressed  man 
approached  me  in  great  excitement  and  cried  out:  "Keep 
away  from  him!  shun  his  friendship!  he  will  work  you 
for  all  your  worth,  and  leave  you  a  wreck  in  body  and  in 
soul!  he's  the  devil  in  a  man!  look  at  me  and  learn  in 
time!  once  within  his  sway,  it  remains  unbroken  even  with 
miles  intervening!  so  it  is  with  me.  I  feel  his  influence 
now,  it  is  coming  on  again! — I  am  going! — my  mind — my 
will — my  reason!'' — Suddenly^  with  great  self  pos- 
session.— "This  desert  has  no  mystery,  allied  to  this  of 
mine.  What  an  actor  I've  become;  two  opposite  parts  I 
play  with  equal  ease.  At  odd  intervals  I  am  a  howting 
derangement;  at  others,  the  embodiment  of  the  most  tran- 
quil and  engaging  comedy.  Did  I  call  him  enemy?  I'll 
traitor  that  assertion  and  call  him  friend,  of  mine,  of  yours; 
my  favorite  and  most  dearest  associate;  one  who  loves  us 
for  our  souls,  not  our  visible  semblance.  Remember  my 
second  reasoning  has  more  in  it  than  the  first.  Adios." — 
And  he  was  gone. 

Lotta,     The  poor  man  must  have  been  insane. 

Lieut,  So  I  then  beli.eved,  though  his  eyes  were 
rational.  It  once  occured  to  me  that  he  might  have  been 
a  hypnotic  subject. 

Hazel,     How  terrible! 


48  CHIHUAHUA. 

Lieut.  For  at  that  time  there  was  a  report  among  the 
boys,  that  a  tall  man  passing  as  a  Mexican  and  with  a 
Mexican's  eye,  had  the  power  and  used  it:  I  never  saw  him 
and  he  disappeared  very  suddenly. 

Su?)ine)\  I  heard  later  he  was  killed  over  a  poker  game. 
He  was  trying  to  influence  a  player  in  his  favor,  but  the 
opponent  knowing  him  had  a  pistol  and  a  will,  so  finis. 

Lotta,  So  strange  a  Hfe;  so  marvelous  a  country.  We 
meet  and  miss  many  a  bewildering  theme. 

Siimner.     And  such  is  life  as  I  have  seen  it; 
I  would  venture  to  state  —  that 
Expose  to  the  light  of  vision  and  knowledge. 
Let  stock  forth  the  hidden  skeletons  in  the  lives 
Of  some  of  our  social  companions: 
Then  stop  and  note  the  result. 
It  would  stagger  the  unthinking  and  contiding 
And  strengthen  the  wildest  exaggerations  of  a  cynic. 
Great  tragedies  are  within  a  short  radius 
Of  our  sight — impenetrable  to  us: 
Dissimulation  shields  too  well: 
Except  when  some  crisis  brings  them  forth, 
They  remain  hidden,  but  rarely  suspicion ed. 
Our  whole  social  existence  is  a  vast  network 
Of  hypocrisy:  barring  that  much  despised  and 
Cried -down  talent,  life  would  have  but  little  spice. 
I  would  say  that  of  him  who  can  dissemble 
Successfully,  Nature  has  conferred  a  priceless  gift. 
Why  the  weeps  of  the  crocodile  in  figurative  speech 
Do  flood  the  world  of  eyes,  at  times: 
Would  I  be  so  coarse  of  fineness  of  assertion 
To  Miclude  them  all?     No;  but  many  eyes 
Do  well  o'er  of  the  w^atery  hypocrisy,  that  makes 


ACT  II.  49 

The  cheeks  a  river's  bed  o'er  which 

To  flow  the  volume  of  hypocritical  show, 

Seen,  called,  supposed,  as  honest  tears. 

Tears — better  some  than  none,  as  goes  the  occasion. 

Hazel.  Some  events  in  your  life,  Mr.  Sumner,  must 
have  been  most  severe,  to  cause  you  to  expound  such  cold 
philosophy. 

Lotta,  Well,  you  know  the  time  is  looked  forward  to, 
by  many,  when  all  things  will  run  smoothly,  and  all  will 
be  happy. 

Sumner,  The  man  that  hopes  for  the  millennium,  the 
great  era  of  universal  happiness,  has  a  very  poor  conception 
of  the  plots  and  combinations  of  human  life.  He  should 
study  human  nature  just  a  little,  and  throw  in  a  few 
thoughts  on  the  world's  history. 

Lieut .  Such  is  life.  It's  philosophy  and  philosophy; 
a  creed  and  a  saying;  rules,  proverbs,  commentaries  and 
commandments:  it's  talk  and  argue;  a  question  put;  a 
question  answered,  sometimes  not;  without  end:  we  are 
all  jumping-jacks  to  destiny. 

Enter   Choate  and  Mrs,  Fretnont, 

Lotta,  Dancing  over?  We  have  been  having  such  an 
interesting  little  lecture  on  friendships,  dissimulation,  the 
millennium  and  jumping-jacks;  the  time  has  passed  un- 
noticed: it  surely  is  not  late? 

Choate,  No,  early  yet;  only  an  intermission;  the 
musicians  wish  a  slight  refreshment  for  their  pains. 

Sumner,  Quite  deserving;  a  sweet  compensation  for 
sweet  sounds. 

Mrs,  Fremont.  I  am  more  than  pleased  with  their 
selections  to-night. 


50  CHIHUAHUA. 

Enter  other  dancers, — Exit  Su?nner  unobserved  by 
stage, — Enter  Mrs.  Kelt  on, 

Lieut,  I  would  say,  Mrs.  Fremont,  that  this  reception 
will  be  acknowledged  one  of  the  most  successful  of  the 
season. 

Choate,  Mrs.  Fremont  is  noted  for  her  success  in  all 
things  social. — Enter  more  guests. 

Mrs,  Kelton.  Senator,  this  evening  recalls  old  Wash- 
ington days.  This,  you  know  is  my  first  winter  in  the  city 
in  many  years. 

Choate,  Then  I  am  sure  you  will  enjoy  it,  so  delight- 
ful is  the  winter  season  East.  This  time  last  year  I  was 
visiting  in  San  Francisco,  and  wonderful  climate  as  it  is, 
one  misses  the  romance  of  the  sleigh-bells,  snow  and  bare- 
limbed  trees.    Evergreens  are  Nature's  fashion  in  California. 

Enter  Fremont,  Goes  to  (Z)  unnoticed,^  first  acts 
strangely .^  then  performs  a  grotesque  dance.  In  center 
door  stands  Sumner  directing  his  movements  by  hypnotic 
foiver^  also  unseen  by  stagey  being  partially  concealed  by 
drapery, 

Sumner.     Aside,     The  crisis  is  at  hand. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  The  West  is  grand,  and  takes  first 
place  for  scenery  of  diversified  Nature;  and  that  is  all:  if 
you  would  live,  you  must  live  East. 

Lieut,  I  disagree  with  you  there,  Mrs.  Fremont^ 
though  I  have  been  stationed  the  greater  part  of  my  time 
in  the  Southwest,  I  feel  calculated  from  my  travels  to  speak 
of  the  more  northern  states.  The  people  of  the  West 
are  like  their  great  mountains,  rivers  and  plains,  in  using  a 
simile;  the  most  open-hearted,  generous,  frank  and  social 
branch  of  the  great  American  family.  Society  in  the 
West,  though  in  its  infancy  as  regards  old  and  conservative 


ACT  II,  51 

traditions,  is  laying  a  foundation  for  social  advancement, 
culture  and  progress,  that  will  never  be  outranked  by 
society  east  of  the  Rockies. 

Choate,     Yes,  I  am  of Crash, — During  last  zvords 

of  Li  cut,  Cicero  enters  zv  it  h  tray  and  wine  glasses ;  sees 
Fremont ^  stops^  looks  on  in  wonder,^  drops  tray  as  Choatc 
speaks.     All  turn  and  see  Fremont, 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Why  this  burlesque!  Jackson?  The 
ball-room  is  near  and  more  appropriate  to  such 

Fremont,  Stops  shorty  eyes  her  zvildly, — Silence! 
Would  you  disturb  the  last  happy  hours  ot  a  man  con- 
demned to  everlasting  companionship  w^ith  Mephisto? 

Mrs,  Fremont.     Cicero,  remove  your  master,  he  is  ill. 

Cicero,     Advances  carefully  and  appears  frightened, 

Fremont,     Points  finger  at  him  and  thtinders  otct. 
Black  man!    ebon-hued  slave! 
Namesake  of  the  illustrious  Roman! 
(A  darkened  honor  to  his  memory,) 
Let  not  your  charcoaled  hand,  rest 
Authoritatively  on  the  sacred  person  of  the  white! 

Cicero,     Nods  head^  steps  hack, — Yes  sah,  yes  sah. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Cicero!  did  you  hear  me?  Jackson — 
Advances  toward  Fremont ,^  who  waves  her  back, 

Fre?nont,     Woman,  use  diplomacy;  keep  in  practice 
The  master  talent  of  your  sex. 
You  understand  not  my  mood.     I  stand 
On  the  threshold  of  the  unknown  world: 
Too  long  I've  lived  to  suffer  a  weight 
Of  misery,  born  of  an  injustice  done 
To  other  men.     My  liberty  at  last,  O  soul 
Of  this  most  racked  and  tortured  brain. 
Fly  away  to — Suddenly  and  calmly — what? 


02  CHIHUAHUA. 

The  service  of  the  Devil, — Excitedly, 

Who  would  in  the  orthodox  fashion 

Gather  me  in  to  feed  the  furnace  fires  of  Hell! 

No!  no!  it  is  not  so!  begone  evil  teachings 

To  my  youngest  years!  I  am  for  Heaven! 

I  see  the  li-ght  breaking!  my  soul  is  free.- — Stops  suddenly^ 

then  very  deliberately. 

Here's  to  you  and  yours, 

Here's  to  theirs  and  mine; 

I  know  all  will  join  me, 

And  drink  these  healths 

In  this  royal  old  wine, 

O,  learn  to  die  in  time. 
Drinks  contents  of  a  vial  concealed  in  hand. — Dies, — 
Confusion, — Exit   Mrs,  Fretnont,,  fainting.^   assisted  by 
Lotta  and  Hazel, — Exit  Mrs,  Kelton,  —  Others  remain, 
Lieut,      To  Cicero, — x\  doctor  quick. — Exit  Cicero, 

Enter  Su?nner, 

Sumner,     What  is   this  commotion  about?     What  has 
happened?     Who  did  this? 

Choate,    Suicide,  while  temporarily  insane — prussic  acid. 

Sum?icr,     Ladies  and  Gentlemen: 
You  have  witnessed  a  most  tragic  episode. 
An  incident  has  transformed  this  mirthful  evening 
To  a  night  blasted  by  the  most  terrible  guest 
That  could  visit  an  assemblage.     A  visitor 
Always  dreaded;  usually  unthought  of;  yet 
Has  been  welcomed :  but  not  this  night. 
O,  Death,  unbidden, — Aside. — Yet  I  did  bid. 
Why  will  you  come  unheralded? 
Mysterious  personage,  what  countless  shadowy 


ACT  II.  53 

Ways  you  tax  the  soul,  (if  there  be  a  soul?) 

With  the  burden  of  a  flight  to  the  unknown  sphere. 

We  all  in  this  life's  fleeting  interval 

Must  acknowledge  you  a  power: 

Some  here,  have  no  doubt  held  temporary 

^Association  with  you  before.     Extending 

Through  a  most  stormy  and  eventful  career; 

Though  not  in  time  spanning  as  many  w^inters 

As  has  silvered  the  brow  of  the  gentleman  on  my  left; 

Refer j'ing  to  Choate. 
I  have  observed  many  heartrending  scenes. 
My  way  has  often  led  me  within  the  circle 
Of  solemn  sound,  tolled  forth  from  many 
A  slow-measured  and  deep-toned  bell; 
And  as  I  advanced  nearer  within  the  radius; 
I  stood  at  last  beneath  the  vaulted  roof 
And  sculptured  dome  of  the  sacred  edifice: 
Environed  by  that  hushed  stillness 
That  is  a  respect  to  the  presence  of  the  dead. 
But  I've  seen  no  scene,  to  me  so  sad  as  this. 
Once  when  I  was  down,  a  victim 
In  the  iron  grasp  of  adversity ;  verging 
On  self-destruction;  the  man  now  inanimate 
Before  me,  said:  "You  require  help, 
Here  it  is,"  an  act  burnt  in  my   memory 
As  with  a  brand:  it  left  in  me  a  profound 
Feeling  of  gratitude.     Now^  is  a  crying  moment. 
Here  lies  my  friend,  so  still:  shortly  ago 
He  walked  among  his  guests  honored  and  respected 
By  all;  now  will  elapse  the  season  of  a  week. 
And  he  is  forgotten  to  the  rushing  world  about: 
For  he  was  a  moneyed  man  and  that  w^as  all.     To  me, 


54  CIITIIUAIIUA. 

He  was  a  virtuous  man;  to  the  world  in  general 

The  same;  to  himself,  to  his  own  private  thoughts, 

He  might  not  have  known  its  meaning; 

He  may  have  called  it  policv. 

His  virtues  to  me  were  many,  and  of  one,  generosity , 

I  find  with  the  majority,  a  trait  most  scarce: 

To  some,  that  virtue  of  his  so  highly 

Thought  of  hy  me,  might  not  hold  good  as  well. 

Old  friend,  may  the  coming  of  the  hlessing 

Of  everlasting  peace,  reflect  upon  you 

That  love  of  mine,  for  you;  as  Death  has  left 

To  me  its  memory,  no  longer  its  application. 

Lieut.  Aside  to  Choate. — Such  a  scene  as  we  have 
witnessed,  touches  one's  finer  and  nobler  feelings,  and 
tends  to  strengthen  one's  confidence  in  human  nature. 

Choate,  I  do  not  wish  my  confidence  in  human  nature 
strengthened,  for  to-morrow  would  only  shatter  it:  it  might 
strengthen  it  for  the  individual,  but  not  for  human  nature 
in  general. 


END   OF    ACT     II. 


ACT  III. 

Scene. —  The  conservatory.  One  fnontJi  later.  Cur- 
tain up  on  Mrs,  Kelton  and  Hazel, 

Hazel,  And  do  you  think,  Grandma,  that  Mama  will 
not  recover  from  the  shock?  It  is  now  one  month  today 
since  poor  Papa's  death. 

Mrs,  Kelton,  Your  mother  is  seriously  ill,  my  child; 
I  fear  will  go  hard  with  her:  ever  since  that  terrible 
collision  two  years  ago,  you  know  she  never  was  the  same. 
Dr.  Allopath  told  me  yesterday  it  was  an  organic  affection 
of  the  heart,  and  he  is  treating  her  accordingly;  so  here- 
after she  must  avoid  all  excitement;  but  being  so  ambitious^ 
she  will  find  it  a  struggle  to  renounce  the  position  held  so 
long. 

Hazel.  O,  what  can  I  do?  what  can  be  done,  to  make 
her  life  a  quieter  one? 

Mrs,  Kelton,  I  fear  nothing ;  she  will  have  her  way : 
but  possibly  she  may  realize  her  condition,  and  use  more 
care. 

Hazel,  I  do  hope  so.  Tell  me.  Grandma;  what  was 
the  trouble  of  long  years  ago,  that  worried  Papa  so? 

Mrs,  Kelton,  Only  some  difficulty  Jackson  had  regard- 
ing a  mining  claim,  in  which  John  had  an  interest.  John 
was  a  good  man,  but  had  too  much  the  spirit  of  the 
wanderer.  Now  ask  no  more  questions;  it's  a  past  you 
should  and  shall  know  nothing  about. 


56  CHIHUAHUA. 

Enter  Cicero  ucith  card. 

Hazel.  Reads, — Mr. Sumner! — Show  him  here. — Exit 
Cicero, 

Enter  Stimner. 

Sumner,  Mrs.  Kelton,  Miss  Emory,  I  am  happy  to 
see  you .     I  hope  you  are  both  quite  well. 

Hazel,     Granma  is  well  and  I  am  as  usual. 

Sumner,  What  news  from  Lenox,  is  Mrs.  Fremont 
improving? 

Mrs,  Kelton,  Yes,  slowly ;  though  the  past  month  has 
been  very  trying,  she  requiring  absolute  quiet;  a  month 
more  we  hope  for  a  great  change  in  her  favor.  I  must 
see  to  certain  household  duties,  so  will  leave  you  for  a 
time. — Exit, 

Sumner,  And  in  the  interval  of  time  elapsing,  we'll 
try  and  put  to  good  account.  Miss  Emory,  have  you  any 
recollection  of  your   father,  who  died   in   the  Southwest? 

Hazel,  Of  my  father  I  know  very  little,  he  left  home 
when  I  was  a  child. 

Su7?iner.  I  knew  once  an  individual  by  that  name,  who 
cherished  me  with  a  father's  love;  this  was  long  ago;  the 
idea  occured  to  me  they  might  be  in  some  way  related. 
The  name  is  not  common.  And  you  are  the  only  child 
then? 

Hazel,  No,  I  had  a  brother  four  years  older,  who  ac- 
companied my  father  on  his  Western  tour. 

Su?nner,     May  I  ask  his  name? 

Hazel,  His  name  was  Walter,  but  you  would  not 
know  him,  you  have  never  met  him.  He  too  died  of 
fever  in  Sonora. 


ACT  III.  57 

Sumner.  That  is  indeed  sad.  Did  Mr.  Fremont  know 
your  father,  may  I  ask  ? 

Hazel.  Really,  Mr.  Sumner,  you  must  excuse  me,  this 
subject  is  mostj^ainful  to  me;  and  I  can  truthfully  add  I 
know  almost  nothing  of  my  father's  and  brother's  history. 

Sumner.  I  must  be  mistaken ;  the  one  1  had  reference 
to  lived  in  England;  I  met  him  when  I  was  in  Liverpool. — 
Aside.  -No  information  there;  if  all  women  knew  so  little 
how  sacred  would  be  our  secrets. —  To  Hazel. — I  trust, 
Miss  Emory,  you  have  taken  no  offense  to  my  inquiries .^^ 

Hazel.     Not  in  the  least,  Mr.  Sumner. 

Siimiier.     Then  we  continue  friends. 

Enter  Lieut. 

Lieut.  Ah!  found  you  Miss  E^mory;  Monte,  I  am  glad 
to  see  you. 

Sumner,     Good  day.  Lieutenant. 

Lieut.     Mrs.  Kelton  said  I  would  find  you  here. 

Enter  Lotta. 

Lotta.     Good  afternoon,  gentlemen. 

Lieut.     Good  afternoon,  Miss  Prescott. 

Sumner.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  looking  better. — 
Plucks  rose  and  presents  to  Lotta. — Accept  this;  its  shade 
is  a  delicate  contrast  to  the  slight  paleness  that  marks  your 
features. 

Lotta.  Thanks;  would  all  roses  were  as  sweet  and 
sweetly  given.  I  am  in  better  spirits  to-day,  but  time, 
even  though  short,  will  mark  our  countenances  worn,  as 
the  influence  of  the  sadness  undergone,  breaks  way  its 
sombre  bonds. 


58  CHJIIUAHUA. 

Enter  Mrs,  Kelton, 

Sumner.  Was  I  not  promised,  Mrs.  Kelton,  a  peep  at 
some  of  your  old  family  heir-looms,  those  interesting  relics 
of  a  past  generation,  and  the  old  Virginia  days? 

Mrs,  Kelton,  Yes,  indeed;  you  shall  see  them  all; 
come  right  along,  Lotta  you  may  assist  me. 

Sumner,     Are  you  not  coming,  too? 

Hazel.  No,  the  old  are*  old  to  me ;  the  Lieutenant  and 
I  have  pored  over  musty  tomes,  spinning  wheels  and 
quaint  medallions  before,  many  times. 

Lieut,  We'll  leave  you  to  the  examination.  Mrs. 
Kelton  and  Miss  Prescott  are  most  entertaining  in  their 
description  of  historical  articles. — Exit  Lotta,^  Sumner 
mid  Mrs,  Kelton, 

Lieut,  Hazel,  since  last  I  w^as  w^ith  you,  I  have  expe- 
rienced the  untold  agonies  of  one  in  love;  visions  of  your 
mother's  refusal  kept  rising  up  before  me. 

Hazel,     You  should  not  be  in  love. 

L.ieut,  Little  sweetheart  of  mine,  you  know  full  well 
were  I  not  in  love  with   you,  you'd   be  the  first  to  wish  it. 

Hazel,     Ah,  indeed,  are  you  so  handsome  then? 

L^ieui,  That's  as  you  place  me.  And  did  you  not,  I 
would  not  be  making  love  to  the  sweetest  girl  I've  ever 
met. 

Hazel,     And  you  think  me  so? 

Lieut,  I've  so  told  you,  wrote  you  now  going  on  the 
thousandth  time.  Yes,  Hazel  sweet,  Hazel  sweeter. 
Hazel  sweetest  of  them  all! 

Hazel.  Bewitching  as  those  dark-eyed,  beautiful,  ro- 
mantic daughters  of  the  tropics;  the  Spanish  senoritas — 
Ray? 


ACT  III.  59 

Lieut.  Come  now,  Hazel,  that^s  rough;  because  T 
happened  to  have  lived  a  f ew^  months  in  close  proximity  to 
Mexico,  you  imagine  I  must  be  enraptured  w^ith  Spanish 
loveliness:  just  you  go  to  Mexico  once,  and  see  well  the 
so-called  charms  of  the  Mexican  women,  and  you  will 
return  and  acknowledge  to  me  how  pretty  you  are . 

Hazel,  To  you,  Ray,  I  may  be  pretty  and  sweet,  as 
you  have  often  told  me;  but  others'  opinions  of  the  ob- 
ject of  your  admiration,  might  not  rise  to  your  standard. 

Lieut,  Hazel,  darling,  it  is  impossible  for  the  criti- 
cisms of  others  to  differ  from  my  own . 

Hazel,     But  suppose 

Lieut,     What?    Mama  objects? 

Hazel,  Objection  always  on  your  mind  ?  Yes,  what 
if  the  word  is  no? 

Lieut,  Though  no  it  be,  I  am  determined  even  by 
desperate  measures  to  make  no  synonymous  with  yes;  a 
task  not  always  difficult  and  often  accomplished.  But  1 
cannot  believe  Mrs.  Fremont  capable  of  causing  us  such 
pain. 

Hazel,  You  do  not  know  Mama,  she  is  ruled  by  policy ; 
a  virtue,  the  cause  of  much  that  appears  heartless,  but 
has  an  end  in  view.  It  is  only  today  Grandma  said  Mama 
had  laid  down  the  law  that  reads  for  Lotta  and  I,  wealth 
must  be  our  husbands,  matters  not  has  wealth  grey  hairs 
or  the  idiotic  expression  of  a  gilded  youth  of  fallowed 
brains. 

Lieut,  I  shall  not  have  it  no;  though  I  am  at  the 
orders  of  ranked  superiors,  to  do  duty  where  and  when 
they  bid;  I  shall  resign  and  enter  mercantile  life;  less  lofty 
as  to  asperations  that  surround  it,  but  more  forme  in  keep- 
ing with  the  times.     The  pursuit  of  increased   gold  lace 


60  CHIHUAHUA. 

and  brass  buttons,  I'll  cbange  for  tbe  seeking  of  gold  notes 
and  silver  dollars. 

HazeL     But  I  love  that  uniform  so. 

Lieut,     I  know  it  darling,  it  helped  me  win  you. 

HazcL     It  did  not. 

Lic7tt,  Show  me  the  woman  that  admires  not  the 
soldier's   plumes. 

Hazel.  How  wise  you  are  about  what  attracts  the 
feminine  eye.     .You  have  brown  eyes,  Ray. 

Lieut,     And  you  red  lips. — Kisses  her. 

Hazel,     Did  I  say  for  you  to  kiss  me? 

Lieut,     Well,  modest  young  ladies  never  ask, 
For  what  modest  young  men  never  take. 

Hazel,     Then  you  are  far  from  modest. 

Lieut,  No,  I  am  a  soldier,  and  as  you  love  soldiers — 
Kisses  her. 

Hazel,     I  shall  never  ask  for  you  to  kiss  me. 

Lieut,  Not  necessary;  consent  is  given  in  three  ways: 
by  silence,  in  a  look,  and  by  a  word. 

Hazel,  You  torment.  Do  you  know  I  believe  some 
one  else  is  getting  spoony  here  lately. 

L^ieut,     You  don't  mean  to  say   I  am,  do  you,  darling? 

Hazel,  Any  one  can  see  it,  love;  but  I  placed  in  com- 
parison to  you  Mr.  Sumner;  he  shows  his  admiration  for 
Lotta,  O  so  often. 

Lieut,     More  than  I  for  you? 

HazeL     He  is  not  as  sweet. 

Lieut,     How  can  you  tell? 

Hazel,     How  could  he  be  ? 

Lieut,     Lotta's  views  are  different. 

Llazel,  Well,  there  may  be  two  brides  yet  in  Grace 
Church. 


ACT  III,  61 

Lieut.  It  may  be  Grace  Church,  it  may  be  the  office 
of  some  country  justice.  I  saw  he  lost  his  heart  the  first 
night  he  came  here;  why  he  could  monopolize  a  young 
ladies'  company  to  the  exclusion  of  others,  in  about  as 
artistic  a  manner  as  one  might  wish  to  admire. 

HazeL     Yes,  he  was  with  me  a  great  deal. 

Lieut.     Now,  you  can't  make  me  jealous,  so  don't  try^ 

Hazel.  How  susceptible  men  are;  I  wonder  if  he  will 
tell  her  of  it? 

Lieut.  If  Sumner  does  not,  he  is  losing  his  courage 
fast,  he  is  the  nerviest  man  I  have  ever  known;  stops  at 
nothing  to  gain  a  point:   why  one  day  in  Casa  Grande — 

HazeL  Yes,  these  brave  men  on  the  field  or  among 
their  fellows,  or  in  some  great  emergency,  are  as  a  rule 
such  terribly  timid  creatures  when  they  go  to  do  a  little 
love-making.    Now  you  remember,  dear,  when  you  first — 

Lieut.     Yes,  darling,  that — that's  all  right — I  was — 

Hazel.     O!  I  am  a  soldier. 

Lieut.  Here  comes  Mrs.  Kelton;  I  heard  her  voice  on 
the  stairs.     Luck  to  the  lottery  of  a  guess,  she  is  alone. 

Hazel.  I  must  go,  I  heard  the  postman's  whistle,  a 
letter  from  Mama. — Starts  to  go. 

Lieut.     Holds  her  back. — Just  one  more. 

Hazel.  Demurely. — You  usually  ask  for  two,  and  take 
a  dozen. 

Lieut,  Never  fear,  I  will  take  a  trial  balance. — Kiss- 
ing her  as  Airs.  Kcltoit  enters. 

Mrs.  Kelton.  I  can  understand  w^hy  you  take  no  in- 
terest in   spinning   wheels,  medallions  and   cracked  china. 

Hazel.     O,  Grandma! — Exit. 

Lieut.     Mrs.  Kelton,  you  have  fairly  caught  us. 


62  CHIHUAHUA. 

Mrs,  Keif  on.  Tut-tut,  it's  nothing;  I've  known  it  a 
long  time. 

Lieut.  I  am  happy  then  in  the  knowledge,  you  look 
at  it  favorably. 

Airs,  KeltoH.  Don't  let  me  see  too  much,  you  might 
make  me  envious;  O,  if  I  was'nt  eighty  years  of  age. 

Lieut.  Fond  of  a  joke  still,  Grandma?  Do  you  know 
I  fear  Mrs.  Fremont  will  oppose  the  rnatch;  even  though 
Mr.  Fremont  gave  his  consent  before  he  died;  I  am  not 
wealthy. 

Mrs.  Kelton.  When  I  was  young,  though  money  had 
great  influence,  worth  always  received  respectful  recogni- 
tion. I  know  you  to  be  worthy  of  Hazel's  love,  and  shall 
assist  you  all  it's  possible  for  me  to  do. 

Lieut,  Mrs.  Kelton,  I  thank  you;  as  I  fought  the 
Indians,  so  I  shall  fight  for  Hazel;  with  a  strong  determin- 
ation to  win. 

Mrs,  Kelton,  Let  us  hope  we  will  succeed.  But  do 
you  think  there  exists  ties  stronger  than  mere  friendship 
between  Lotta  and  Mr.  Sumner?  I  never  noticed  any- 
thing until  up-stairs  a  short  time  ago,  when  we  were  look- 
ing at  the  heir-looms;  Lotta  seemed  very  anxious  about 
my  pet  canaries,  she  thought  James  had  neglected  to  feed 
them. 

Lieut,  Ha!  ha!  as  I  suspected:  old  tricks,  I  have  been 
right  there — 

Mrs,  Kelton,  I  am  well  aware  of  it.  It  used  to  be  pet 
canaries  with  Hazel,  now  Lotta  is  becoming  interested: 
those  birds  of  mine  never  looked  so  well  fed  before.  They 
have  about  stopped  singing. 

Lieut,     Monte  is  a  noble  fellow. 


AC 7'  III.  63 

Mrs.  Kelton.  I  like  him,  his  character  appears  excep- 
tional. 

Enter  Cicero.  ' 

Cicero.  De  dry  goods  man  am  come  wid  de  samples, 
Missa  Kelton. — Exit. 

Mrs.  Kelton.  Then  I  will  send  down  Mr.  Sumner  to 
keep  you  company;  the  girls  I  shall  need  with  me  for  a 
short  time. — Exit. 

Lieut.     As  you  will,  Mrs.  Kelton. 
Life,  life;  a  yes,  a  no,  at  times,  completes  our  destiny ; 
Is  the  die  of  our  fate:  matters  not  the  power 
Of  the  being,  from  whom  we  are  forced 
To  take  this  aye  or  nay,  it  holds  good, 
Unless  a  crisis  arrives  to  sunder 
The  spell  for  either  ends  of  a  question. 
And  here's  an  unwelcome  instance. 
Wherein  I  am  forced  to  take  the  nay. 
And  the  sundering  crisis  '11  not  arrive. — 
Takes  from  pocket  a  paper.  Enter  Sumner. 

Sumner. — What!  old  fellow,  you  look  bluer  than  the 
blues. 

Lieut.  Thinking,  only  w^ondering;  an  idea  that  I  men- 
tioned to  Hazel,  has  just  come  to  mind  with  redoubled 
force;  that  has  scattered  blue  fancies  far  from  my  dispo- 
sition: though  the  countenance  molds  in  looks,  in  keeping 
with  the  thoughts  as  a  rule:  and  deep  thoughts  and  blues 
appear  with  much  the  same  marks. . 

Sumner.  Thoughts  worth  thinking  should  always 
receive  attention:  what  is  the  title  to  yours.  Miss  Emory? 

Lieut.     Yes,  and  the  idea;  I  shall  resign  my  commission. 


64  CHIHUAHUA. 

Stimner,     No!  Why,  what's  the  merit  of   the  trouble? 

Lieut,     Hounds  letter  to  Stunner, — Read. 

Sumner.  Still  a  lieutenant?  Come,  that's  discouraging-, 
but  don't 

Lieut,  That's  what  it  is  to  have  swell  and  indifferent 
relations;  two  of  which  occupy  influential  positions  in  the 
War  Department:  I  reckoned  on  a  pull. 

0  my  relationSjSweet  relations,  what  worthies  you  are ; 
And  how  I  despise  you,  but  cannot  apprise  you, 

For  fear  my  chances  it  'd  mar;  there's  a  fact. 

Sumner,     In  all  places,  and  of  all  faces  or  races. 
Relations  at  times  the  most  despicable  are. 

Lieut,     Give  me  a  friend  for  a  relation. 
To  my  approbation ;  but  never  a  relation  that  far. 
That's  as  a  friend. 
No,  there  is  no  money  in  my  salary,  there's  more  in  mines. 

1  located  a  claim  or  two  during  my  campaigns,  that  will 
pay  development.  I  never  noted  the  force  of  the  money 
question  till  of  late. 

Sumner,     That  which  is  good  fortune   does  not  always 
Appear  to  us  at  first  sight  in  agreeable  aspect. 
Speculate;  there  lies  fortune's  greatest  favors. 
Go  on  the  street  and  believe  not  all  you  hear; 
For  many  speculators  omit  the  S,  in  the  title 
Of  their  occupation:  use  care  with  such. 
Still  if  possible,  never  offend  a  speculator; 
Keep  his  friendship  on  the  issue  of  a  smile; 
And  fail  not  to  remark  the  fact, 
That  though  he  may  be  penniless  to-day, 
To-morrow  might  strike  the  opposite  in  his  fortunes. 
No,  hold  him  dear  particularly  does  he  place 
Greater  stress  on  his  own  opinions  than  on  points. 


ACT  III.  ,  65 

And  I'll  give  you  two  points  now ;   in  stock  dealings 
With  others,  always  be  fortified  with  the  newest 
Informations,  (from  where  got,  matters  not). 
To  keep  them  in  an  anxious  state  for  a  something 
Yet  to  come.     We  hope  the  stock — we  stock  on  hope. 
Also ;  a  man  you'd  ask  favors  of,  if  possible, 
Interest  in  a  scheme,  interesting  to  his  pocket: 
Watch  him  love  you.     There's  few  exceptions. 
And  push  quick  acquaintance  with  some  insider. 

Lieut,     Done,  Arizona  and  Uncle  Sam,  adieu, 
I'll  plunge  Wall  Street  through. 

Sumner,     I  don't  see  but  what  such  a  course 
Would  be  a  good  selection. 
But  remember,  that  while  you  are  down 
To  thunder  all  your  works  and  talents. 
Also  acting  modest; 
And,  when  on  the  platform  of  success, 
Shape  your  deportment  to  your  moods. 
Success  to  your  certificates. 
Tell  me,  what  of  Miss  Emory? 

Lieut,  Monte,  I'll  have  that  girl  if  I  have  to  elope 
with  her. 

Sumner.  What  a  change  from  your  old  ideas.  "O,  I 
prefer  bachelor's  hall;  you  are  so  free  and  independent." 
When  you  are  in  Miss  Emory's  company  you  look  the 
very  spirit  of  Garibaldi,  ha!  ha! 

Lieut,     I  was  wrong,  but  don't  you  believe  in  marriage? 

Sumner,  Of  marriage  I  have  a  doubt  if  there  ever  has 
been  or  ever  will  be  a   more   ennobling  social   institution. 

Lieut.  As  they  say  out  West,  "  Pard,  them'ar  's  my  sen- 
timents." Possibly  I  may  require  assistance  in  my  love 
affair;  can  I  count — 


66  CHIHUAHUA. 

Sumner,     As  Kent  to  Lear,  so  I  to  you. 

Lieut.  Gracias  amigo!  Say  old  boy,  tell  me,  are  you 
in  love? 

Sumner.  I  love  her  the  most,  who  knows  me  the 
least.  Yes,  Lotta  is  the  gentle  answer  of  a  wish,  I  shall 
marry  her. 

Lieut.  Bueno,  bueno,  Senor.  When  we  were  in  Ari- 
zona, though  we  passed  through  some  strange  and  severe 
trials,  still  I  did  not  have  the  opportunity  to  know  you  as 
I  wished,  now  I  want  to  see  more  of  you.  You  have  a 
cool  confidence  I  do  not  possess;  Nature's  slight,  not  West 
Point's. 

Sumner.  Aside. — Those  who  haVe  seen  more  of  me 
often  wish  they  had  seen  less. 

Lieut.  Had  Hazel  a  big  brother  now,  he  could  win  his 
mother  over.  I  know  she  will  object:  but  as  no  big 
brother  exists  I  will  vote  you  to  the  vacancy. 

Su7nner.  Elected.  I  will  be  Hazel's  brother  for  she'll 
never  have  another. 

Lieut.     I  must  tefl  Hazel  you  have  found  a  sister. 

Sumner,  Don't;  she  will  ask  you  who  I  have  been 
proposing  to. 

Enter  Lotta. 

Lotta.  I  have  decided  on  a  shade  for  the  new  parlor 
hangings;  Hazel  is  still  uncertain. 

Lieut.     I  guess  I  shall  go  and  help  her  out. — Exit. 

Sumner.  Go,  Lieutenant,  you  admire  the  beautiful — 
Looks  at  Lotta y  eyes  meet — Lotta  goes  to  window  and 
looks  out  on  falling  snow. — Sumner  follows^  and   with 

eyes    on     Lotta    finishes  sentence And  so  do  L 

How  beautiful  the  snow. 


AC 7'  III.  67 

Falling  so  lightly,  so  silently: 

Snow,  '  Pure  as  snow,'  as  goes  the  saying; 

Such  a  character  makes  its  finding  difficult; 

But  when  placed,  is  amongst  womankind 

Found.     Of  men,  it  does  rarely  exist. 

Were  all  our  characters  spotless 

As  the  driven  snow;  the  world  would  be 

The  materialized  idea  of  the  creeds; 

Quite  too  monotonous,  not  fit  to  live  in. 

Lotta,  Once  again,  Mr.  Sumner;  w^hy  what  cynical 
ideas  compose  your  philosophy.  I  am  going  to  teach  you 
ethics  more  in  keeping  with  the  general  views. 

Sumner.  Would  that  you  could,  Miss  Prescott;  but  I 
fear  your  task  will  be  discouragingly  difficult.  It  would 
have  to  necessarily  upset  the  principles  bitter  experience 
has  taught  me. 

Lotta.  I  am  in  sympathy  with  you,  Mr.  Sumner. 
Your  life  must  have  been  a  sad  experience,  your  philosophy 
declares  the  fact:  none  but  those  who  have  born  a  weight 
of  sorrow  could  speak  as  that:  I  too  have  suffered;  but  I 
kno-w  did  we  measure  our  sorrows,  as  blade  to  blade  in  a 
duel,  you'd  win  the  point  of  greater  anguish. 

Sumner.  My  way  has  keen  exceptional,  others  do  not 
suffer  as  I  have  suffered. 

Lotta.     Fortitude  will  win  in  the  end. 

Sumner.  There  is  a  virtue  often  made  too  virtuous.  It 
may  win,  it  may  fail;  even  when  a  lifetime  of  respect,  it 
has  received  from  some  poor  confiding  mortal. 

Lotta.     Then  what  is  certain? 

Sumner.  With  a  few  exceptions,  all  is  doubt ;  and  the 
world  usually  chooses  with  few  exceptions  to  believe  itself 
one  of  the  exceptions;  in  view  of  Fate. —  Walks  to  a  palm 


68  CHIHUAHUA. 

tree, — What  a  contrast,  these  waving  pahns,  fan-leaved 
and  thousand-ribbed;  reflecting  the  light  green  tropic 
shades;  look  without;  snow,  ice  and  bitter  cold:  one 
warm,  balmy,  soft,  fit  representative  of  romantic  climes ;  the 
influence  of  the  other  cold  and  cheerless,  sways  in  its  own 
way.  O,  a  Mexican  night:  what  memories,  romances, 
traditions. 

Lotta.     You  love  the  South? 

Simiiter,  More  than  words  can  describe.  The  South 
is"  the  land  of  the  sentimentalist,  the  dreamer,  the  poet. 
I  would  to  you,  in  poor  words  describe  most  complicated 
feelings  in  a  poetic  way;  an  admonition  not  to  wish,  and 
a  question  of  the  wisdom  of  the  warning. 
Lotta,     I  should  like  to  hear  it. 

Sumner,  Draws  close  to  her^  both  seated  on  a  rustic 
bench. 

Wish  not  to  be, 
What  thou  canst  not  be: 
Yet,  how  wouldst  thou  know 
Thou  canst  not  be 
What  thou  wouldst  wish  to  be.? 
Lotta,     It  is  pretty;  what  would  you  wish  to  be? 
Sumner,     Cannot  you  guess? 
Lotta,     Shakes  head  wonderingly, 

Sumner,  The  lover  of  a  soul,  so  sweet,  so  sympathetic, 
so  beautiful;  of  one  v\  form  and  feature  so  lovable  in  my 
eyes. 

Lotta,  Slightly  hesitating, — Of  whom?  Who  can  be 
so  beautiful  to  you? 

Sumner,  Business, — Does  he  exist  who  has  a  better 
right  than  I  ? 


ACT  III.  69 

Lotta,     No,  Monte. 

Sumner,     Kisses  her, — I' ve  won !  I've  won ! 

Lotta,  Archly, — Do  all  men  love  women  so?  Is — is 
it — all  such  ecstasy  of  feeling — too  difficult  to  describe — 
but — so — delightful  ? 

Sumner,  Some,  not  all.  It  depends  upon  the  lover 
and  the  loved;  the  passion,  the  soul.  Even  villains  love 
women  just  as  much  as  so-called  good  and  honest  men, 
and  they  sometimes  make  ten-fold  better  lovers  and  sweet- 
hearts. 

Lotta,  I  don't  think  they  could  be  sweeter  than  you — 
could  it  be  you  are  a  villain? 

Sumner.  I  must  acknowledge  it;  yes  Lotta;  I  am  of 
a  desperate  type;  I  have  stolen;  I  am  a  highwayman;  the 
guilt  of  embezzlement  is  weighted  upon  me.  So  I  shall 
continue;  it  is  to  the  nature  of  my  education,  so  firmly  im- 
planted that  all  prisons,  creeds  and  pledges,  would  not 
restrain  the  master  passion  of  my  character. 

Lotta,     O  Monte!    What  have  you  done? 

Sumner.  Stolen  your  love  and  kisses.  Don't  tell, 
Lotta. 

L,otta.     You  tease. 

Enter   Cicero  with   card* 

Lotta,  Reads, — Mr.  Bowie,  Chihuahua. — Pronounced 
broadly, — Show  the  gentleman  in. — Exit  Cicero. 

Sumner.  That's  a  good  joke,  ha!  ha!  I  must  give  you 
a  few  lessons  in  Spanish,  Lotta  love.  Chihuahua.  —  Giv- 
ing proper  pro?zunciation,'-The  two  last  h's  are  silent, 
the  i  is  an  e,  u  is  an  oo,  and  a  is  an  ah. — Aside, — Who  is 
Bowie?  and  from  Chihuahua. —  Walks  to  (L,) 


70  CHIHUAHUA. 

Lotta,     Cicero  misunderstood  me.      He  is  bringing  the 
gentleman  here,  instead  of  the  reception  room. 
Cicero,     Annojinces, — Mistah  Bowie. — Exit. 

Ente7'  Boivie, — Staj'ts  slightly  on  seeing  Lotta, 

Bowie.     May  I  see  Mrs.  Fremont? 

Sumne?'  tu?'ns  when  Bowie  sfeaks,  gives  a  sharp 
glance  at  Bowie^  who  does  not  see  hini^  and  says  very 
coldly  ajid  cooly. — Aside. — My  father! 

Lotta.  Mama  is  not  in  town;  1  do  not  expect  her  for 
two  weeks  yet;  she  has  been  very  ill. 

Bowie.     Are  you — are  you  Miss  Emory,  may  I  ask? 

Lotta.  No,  I  am  her  cousin.  If  you  wish  to  see  her  I 
will  send — Starts  to  ring  bell. 

Su7nner.  Steps  forward  quickly^  hand  extended^  per- 
fectly composed. 

Bowie.     Monte!  Monte  Em  — 

Sumner,  Lnterrupts  quickly, — Mr.  Bowie,  I  am  glad 
to  see  you;  when  your  card  was  sent  in  I  did  not  dream  it 
was  that  of  my  superintendent  and  old  acquaintance. 
Allow  me.  Miss  Prescott;  Mr.  Bowie. 

Lotta,     Mr.  Bowie,  I  am  pleased  to  meet  you. 

Bowie,  Miss  Prescott,  I  am  delighted.  It  quite 
startled  me  to  meet  here  the  owner  of  the  mine  I  represent. 

Sum7ier,  Aside  to  Bowie, — My  name  is  Mr.  Sumner, 
from  Tombstone. 

Lotta,  One  does  meet  old  friends  under  such  queer 
circumstances  and  in  such  unlikely  places. 

Suinner .     Yes  indeed. 

E7iter  Cicero  with  card, 
Lotta.      Takes  card. — Senator  Choate  has  called.    Show 


AC7'  III.  ?1 

him  to  the  library,  Cicero. — Exit   Cicero, — Gentlemen  if 
you  will  excuse  me  for  a  short  time. 
Bowie  and  Sumner.     Certainly. 

Exit  JLotta, 

Sumner,  Father!  Dad!  O,  my  father!  is  this  reality? 
Here!  you!  after  all  these  years? — and  I, — I  thought  you 
dead, — I  the  poor  fatherless,  homeless  wanderer. 

Bowie,  Monte,  my  boy,  and  I  thought  you  dead,  I  too 
the  homeless  vagabond,  the  outcast.  This  is  too  much! 
And  this  is  the  ending  of  a  Hell  on  earth,  to  live  as  I  have 
lived  ?  To  find  my  boy  at  last,  nine,  long,  weary  years. 
To  realize  the  truth  is  to  ask  an  injustice  of  my  under- 
standing. I  saw  you  boy  taken  captive,  and  knew  the 
tortures  you  would  undergo;  but  you  survived,  lived. 

Suinner,  Then  my  eyes  too  did  descry  a  mirage?  it 
has  continued  a  nine  years  delusion.  I  sighted  as  we 
turned  to  go,  you  left  for  dead  upon  the  field ;  and  Death 
made  not  its  coming,  another  reaped. 

Bowie,  I  feigned  death  and  by  that  escaped;  but  was 
badly  wounded.  The  band  hurried  in  their  work,  urged 
by  a  detachment  in  pursuit,  or  torture  would  have  pro- 
longed as  I  thought  the  surely  condemned  life's  spark. 
No  doubt  we  have  been  near  each  other  many  times  since. 
The  Greasers  abandoned  the  chase;  and  the  Indians  soon 
disappeared  among  the  hills,  bearing  you. 

Sumner,  Yes,  I  was  held  captive  for  three  years;  be- 
came a  bandit,  a  calling  forced  upon  me.  Ah !  but  I  have 
suffered!  I  know  what  it  is.  I  escaped  eventually,  and 
have  leased  the  world  for  my  home,  ever  since. 

Bowie,  My  poor  boy,  I  too  have  suffered;  how  hard 
is  life,  how  merciless  is  Fate. 


72  CHIHUAHUA. 

Sumne?',  Fate  has  taught  me  to  be  merciless;  O  man, 
your  Hell  is  right  here  on  this  earth. 

Bowie.  Monte,  it  is  a  bitter  life.  But  what  brings  you 
here?  in  that  question  lies  my  greatest  surprise.  This  is 
the  house  of  your  mother;  my  mission  is  to  see  her,  recall 
a  few  forgotten  memories,  and  reckon  with  the  man  who 
stole  from  me  everything  that  I  had  to  look  forward  to  in 
this  life.  I've  spent  six  years  in  a  Mexican  prison  on 
charges    barren    of   a  just   cause — 

Sumner,     A   Mexican  prison!  God! 

Bowie,  And  was  liberated  only  a  month  ago. 
Previous  to  my  incarceration  the  three  years  were 
but  a  record  of  lost  or  unanswered  letters  and  aimless 
wanderings  in  Lower  California,  or  I  would  have  settled 
with  Fremont  years  before.  Where  is  he  now  ?  I  want 
to  see  him. — Draws  pistol, 

Sumner,  Takes  pistol. — A  fine  weapon;  it's  polished 
barrel  gleams  ominously;  many  are  the  scores  you  and 
your  fellows  have  wiped  out.  You'll  serve  a  judge's  ends 
in  Arizona,  but  not  here.  This  country  is  too  civilized. — 
Aside, — Here  the  eye  was  a  greater  power  than  the  noisy* 
weapon. — Returning  it  to  Bowie, — It  is  worthless  for 
your  purpose. 

Bowie,  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  it?  I  tested  it 
only  a  week  ago  in  San  Antonio,  Texas.  I  shall  kill  Fre- 
mont. 

Sumner,     He's  dead. 

Bowie,     Dead !    dead  you  say  ?    no. 
It  can't  be  possible  I'm  cheated ;  this  long 
Wished  for  reckoning  now'll  be  naught. 
In  the  weary  hours  of  my  captivity. 
It  seemed  that  for  end,  there  was  no  end; 


ACT  III.  Qfa 

I  watched  the  dial  of  a  little  watch 

Kept  secreted  in  my  cell: 

And  prayed  that  those  slowly-turning  hands 

Would  creep  on  at  a  quicker  pace,  and  time 

Would  slip  away  in  keeping  with  the  action. 

One  hope  alone  consoled  me;  that,  to  seek 

Fremont,  and  cry  out  at  the  meeting 

As  has  been  done  in  cases  similar, 

"Vengeance!  vengeance  is  mine!" 

I  was  liberated ;  I  have  sought  and  not  found 

The  subject  of  my  thoughtful  moods; 

I  cannot  say  now,  "  Vengeance  is  mine." 

Sumner.  Aside. — No,  it  is  mine,  but  the  honor  will 
stretch  for  two.  To  Bowie. — No,  no  stain  shall  blot  the 
old  record;  he  died  one  month  ago  to-day;  committed  sui- 
cide in  a  fit  of  temporary  insanity:  so  the  papers  said. 

Bowie.  Disappointment,  you  and  my  future  are  of  the 
same  fraternity.  Monte,  how  are  you  fixed?  Though  I 
was  so  far  broke  three  weeks  ago,  that  for  being  obliged 
to  ride  the  brakes,  a  division;  a  rascally  justice  of  Flagstaff 
called  me  a  Hobo;  ordered  me  to  leave  town  in  six  hours; 
and  a  worthless  half-breed  Moqui  intimated  that  my  game 
of  poker  'd  not  stand  analysis.  Yet  I  made  a  stake  in 
Albuqerque  at  Faro  and  Three-card  Monte.  Remember 
how  you  received  your  name?  Recollect  how  you  won 
fifty  dollars  from  Juan  Torres,  in  El  Paso,  the  night 
before  we  left  for  Chihuahua? 

Sumner.  Yes,  father,  all.  I  am  well  fixed ;  I  recently 
received  a  large  sum  of  money  from  some  mines  in  Tomb- 
stone; my  regular  dividends:  and  also,  just  previous  to  his 
death,  I  remarked  the  remorse 'of  Fremont;  a  change  to  a 
mood  that  favored  much  my  claims.     He  made  a  will  and 


74  CtllHtlAHtjA. 

by  its  provisions,  forgetfulness  of  my  right  was  not  coun- 
tenanced. 

Bowie,  Fremont  repent!  Is  it  possible?  It  was  time. 
I  am  glad  you  got  something  out  of  him.  But  your 
mother,  how  did  she  receive  you? 

Szminer,  Received  unrecognized;  for  I  have  changed 
in  fifteen  years.  Was  introduced  by  a  friend  of  mine, 
Lieutenant  Silverton;  Fremont  did  not  tell  her  of  my 
being  here,  and  he  died  directly  after.  Though  originally 
Walter  Emory,  I  have  lived  under  the  assumed  name  of 
Sumner  for  years;  keeping  only  the  nickname  Monte, 
you  used  to  call  me  by.  None  know  me  here;  I  do  not 
wish  it,  and  for  awhile  favor  me  and  remain  incog;  there- 
fore to  me  before  others  you  are  Mr.  Bowie;  to  me  alone, 
my  own  father.  But  how  came  you  to  introduce  yourself 
as  Mr.  Bowie? 

Bowie,  I  was  afraid  I'd  not  be  admitted  did  I  give  the 
name  of  Emory. 

Sumner,  Your  foresight  is  a  credit  to  your  judgment; 
your  fortune  then  in  that  is  mine  as  well.  Will  not  Mrs. 
Kelton  recognize  you? 

Bowie,     What!  the  old  woman  still  alive? 

Suj72?ier,     Yes,  and  resident   here;  good   for  ten  years, 
yet.     The  past  has  made  few  changes  with  you,  still  have 
a  beard  I  see. 

Bowie,  Where  I  was  confined  they  did  not  shave  the 
prisoners;  it  was  too  much  trouble. 

Sumner,  Leave  it  to  me,  I  shall  arrange  it.  Inform 
the  girls  the  reason  that  you  came  to  see  Mrs.  Fremont 
was  to  inquire  concerning  me:  though  it  was  a  strange 
entrance. 


ACT  111.  76 

Bowie.  I  am  to  see  Hazel  then?  She  will  not  recognize 
me. 

Sumne7\  I  think  not,  but  forget  not  my  caution;  you 
are  Mr.  Bowie  from  Chihuahua. 

Bowie,     I'll  be  cautious. 

Sumner.  John  Emory  died  nine  years  ago,  as  did  the 
boy. 

Bowie.     They  did. 

Entei'  Lotta.,  Hazel  and  Lieut. 

Szimner.  Miss  Emory,  Lieutenant,  my  friend  Mr. 
Bowie  from  Chihuahua,  the  superintendent  of  the  Aztec's 
Legacy,  a  mine  in  which  I  have  an  interest. 

Lieut.     Mr.  Bowie. 

Hazel.  Mr.  Bowie,  I  am  delighted.  This  is  a  freak  of 
destinations  and  of  homes;  Lieutenant  Silverton  from  Las 
Nogales  and  Fort  Yuma,  Mr.  Sumner  from  Tombstone, 
and  I  again  have  the  pleasure  of  an  acquaintance  with 
another  resident  of  the  Southwest. 

Bowie.  Though  a  resident  of  Southern  Arizona  Dis- 
tricts for  a  time,  many  of  my  years  have  been  spent  on 
Mexican  soil ;  the  land  of  the  cactus. 

Lotta.  What  romance  surrounds  that  far-away  country : 
the  names  are  glamoured  o'er  strangely  and  weirdly; 
Apaches,  Tombstones,  and  long  Spanish  and  Indian  words. 

lAeut.  Ah!  Apaches  and  tombstones,  two  of  a  kind 
which  fail  to  ultimately  meet  until  a  long  record  of 
treachery  and  'crime  bring  the  extremes  to  one  completed 
tale. 

Sumner.  What  a  pensive  thought  for  Arizonians;  all 
Apaches  under  tombstones. 


76  CHIHUAHUA. 

Bowie.  Aside  to  Sumner. — And  this  beautiful  girl  is 
my  daugh'er? 

Sum7ier.     That  is  my  sister. 

E7ite7'  Mrs,  Keltofi.  Bowie  turns  to  one  side  on  seeing 
her^  and  Sumner  exclaims : 

Sumner.     I  thought  I  saw  a  mouse  there. 

Ladies  shriek.,  Lotta  and  Hazel  jump  on  chairs.,  Mrs. 
Kelton  grasfs  skirts  and  exits,  Lieut,  looks  for  mouse 
a?td  Sumner  stands  unconcerned. 

Hazel,     O,  where?  where  is  it?  Look  out  Ray! 

Lotta.  Cicero!  ring  for  Cicero!  Take  it  away  !  Mr. 
Sumner,  get  on  the  table.     Look  out  Mr.  Bowie. 

Sumner.  Laughs.  —Ah  Ladies,  T  ask  your  pardon,  I 
see  it  now ;  it  was  but  a  draught  that  rustled  the  tassel  on 
the  portiere.  You  have  nothing  to  fear,  the  coast  is  clear. 
But,  come  Mr.  Bowie,  we  must  be  going;  it  is  late. 
Ladies  still  on  chairs, 

Lotta.  What  a  fright  you  gave  us.  Are  you  real  sure 
the  little  creature    is   not  there,  Monte — Mr.  Sumner? 

Stimner,  Quite  positive.  Helps  her  off  chair.,  Lieut, 
helps  Hazel  off. 

Bowie.  Aside,- -She  calls  him  Monte,  then  corrects 
herself:  so  there  dips  the  lead. 

Sufnner,  Aside  to  Bowie y  all  start  to  go,— -The  ruse 
succeeded ;    the  old  lady  did  not  see  you. 


END    OF    ACT    III. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene. —  The  /library.      Two  ?nonths  later. 
Enter  Sumner^  shown  in  by  Cicero. 

Sumner,     Today  the  will's  seals  are  broken; 
I  shall  make  known  my  real  identity ; 
It  will  contrast  oddly  with  the  role  I've  played; 
But  being  fertile  in  the  formation  of  excuses, 
I  can  trust  my  future  to  the  ready -thought. 
As  I  have  noted  my  mother's  character, 
My  actual  home-coming  promises  scanty  revelry; 
But  the  forward  question  of  such  an  hour. 
How  is  it  all  to  end? 

Enter  Lotta  withjiowers;  arranges  in  a  vase  07i  center 
table y   does  not  see  Sumner^  who  takes  scat  in  one  corner, 

Lotta,     Sweet  Amaranth,  fabled  flower  unfading; 
Be  my  love's  companion  forever,  and  its  simile; 
For  you,  though  mythical,  will  never  die. 
Fictioned  Amaranth,  receive  the  respect 
I  wish  to  bestow,  while  in  this  sentimental  mood. 
Flowering  Amaranth,  my  love  for  him  though  like 
To  you  in  length  of  years,  is  still  dissimilar; 
For  my  love  exists,  and  you  do  not. 
How  could  the  Amaranth  that's  naught,  die? 
There  is  naught  then  to  die  in  that: 
A  slip  of  reason  in  that  question. 


78  CHIHUAHUA. 

Its  memory  may  seek  the  burial  vaults 

Of  long  forgotten  imaginings;  and  there  ends 

What  then  exists.     But  hold,  I'll  place  you 

Real,  alive,  to  bloom  companion  to  my  love: 

Not  of  earth  and  water  nursed,  vain  regret  to  sigh 

For  what  cannot  exist:  does  there  not  exist  enough? 

Here  is  a  thought,  grateful  to  this  moment; 

Did  it  live;  a  living  flower;  a  beauteous  plant; 

Its  fabled  leaves  be  live;  representative 

Of  the  imagined  one  whereof  I  spoke; 

T'would  be  subject  to  the  evils  of  its  fellows, 

And  prey  to  death.     The  rude  hand  to  break  it, 

The  negligent  hand  to  water  it,  if  I  away. 

Would  kill  it.     Then  what  becomes 

My  love's  synonym?     Non-existent  with  me. 

Perhaps  elsewhere,  but  the  particular  one  is  gone. 

The  one  I  treasured  most. 

No,  back  to  the  mind's  fantastic  realms, 

You  fabled  flower,  you  must  not  live  to  die. 

But  live  to  never  die. 

Beautiful  Amaranth,  my  love;  a  twain,  the  same. 

Sumner »     Who  is  he? 

Lotta,  Why!  I  thought  I  was  alone.  Did  you  just 
come  in. 

Sumner,     Heard  it  all.     But  tell  me,  Lotta,  who  is  he? 

Enter  HazeL 

Sufnner,  Good  afternoon,  Miss- Emory,  another  stormy 
day  finds  me  here. 

Hazel.  And  you  are  indeed  welcome;  what  is  the 
latest  news  from  Chihuahua?  I  have  quite  fallen  in  love 
with  that  marvelous  country  of  the  Southwest.     I  think 


ACT  IV,  79 

Mr.  Bowie  is  such  a  pleasant  person,  so  well  informed;  I 
have  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  him.  Do  you  know  he  bears 
a  striking  resemblance  to  an  old  photograph  of  my  father. 

Sumner,  Indeed,  Mr.  Bowie  is  certainly  calculated  to 
prove  himself  interesting;  he  has  traveled  much  and  had 
many  startling  adventures.     Miss  Prescott,  you — 

Hazel,  Why  don't  you  call  her  Lotta?  Mr.  Sumner, 
I  shall  leave  and  give  you  a  chance. — Exit  laughi7zg, 

Lotta,     Hazel,  you  should  be  ashamed — 

Sumner,     Why  ? 
Let  others  know  your  love  is  my  pride; 
I  could  eloquently  declare  it  to  all  the  world, 
And  yet  not  express  the  happiness  of  owning 
Such  a  possession.     Love,  love ; 
As  an  exponent  of  the  delightful  passion. 
You  brown  haired  witch,  you  eclipse  them  all. 
Who  aspire  to  such  pretensions. 

l^otta.     Then  you  love  me  so?  Monte. 

Sumner,     Love,  love  you?     The  word  expresses  not 
The  power  'tis  said  to  represent;  it  falls  short 
Of  my  affection.     When  in  the  rushing  tide 
Of  adversity,  that  might  darken  your  path 
In  future  years,  (for  most  all,  there  is  such  a  time,) 
Remember  well  what  now  I  tell  you: 
You  are  mine,  and  will  so  continue  till  you  die. 
No  other  in  love's  embrace  shall  clasp 
This  waist,  or  kiss  those  lips,  but  I. 
This  love  is  your  first,  it  shall  be  your  last. 

Lotta.     Little  I  knew  the  power  of  love  before. 
What  is  it?     I  cannot  say.    Did  1  possess 
The  eloquence  of  a  Webster  or  a  Clay, 
I  could  not  picture  it  as  it  is. 


80  CHIHUAHUA. 

I  do  not  wish  to  know.     To  attempt  to  explain 

Would  be  to  overstep  the  bounds  of  romance; 

Then  appears  the  cold  philosophy  of  nature. 

Reason,  I  do  not  want  in  love,  love  is  sentiment 

And  reason  and  sentiment  are  opponents: 

Two  extremes  that  make  the  trials  of  life. 

He  who  can  combine  the  two,  is  a  character. 

An  exception.     I  wish  to  be  lost  in  sentiment's  depths, 

To  only  know,  that  I  love  you 

And  you  love  me;  I  care  to  know  no  more. 

Si0nner,  By  that  unconscious  philosophy,  my  darling, 
You  have  declared  Love's  true  inspiration. 

Lotta,  But  poor  Hazel  and  the  Lieutenant;  I  am 
afraid  the  path  of  love  will  be  hard  with  them.  Mama 
has  such  strict  notions  of  what  constitutes  love;  the  foun- 
dation is  gold,  that  is  her  dogma. 

Sumner,  They  will  not  have  the  great  trouble  you 
imagine. 

Lotta,  I  believe  you  Monte.  You  always  speak  in 
such  a  way  as  though  what's  wanted  to  be  done  is  as  good 
as  done. 

Sumner,  No,  love,  there  will  be  two  brides,  two 
grooms  to  march  to  the  music  of  Mendelssohn  and 
Wagner. 

Lotta,     Did  you  know  Papa's  will  is  to  be  read  to-day? 

Sumner,  Is  it?  I  should  like  to  be  present  to  know  its 
provisions;  it  may  contain  much  of  importance  even  to 
myself;  he  intimated  to  me  once  to  that  effect. 

Lotta,  Yes,  to  all  of  us.  Senator  Choate  will  be  here 
at  two  o'clock,  he  was  Papa's  lawyer. 


ACT  IV.  81 

Sumner,  Let  me  draw  on  my  memory;  was  he  not 
the  gentleman  I  met  the  night  of  the  reception,  two 
months  ago? 

Lotta.  Yes,  the  same  person;  he  is  one  of  the  finest 
lawyers  in  the  country ;  he  was  in  the  United  States  Sen- 
ate for  several  terms. 

Sumner.  I  remember  now.  Did  he  not  introduce  that 
celebrated  bill  to  pension — Exit  with  Lotta. 

Enter  Lieut,  and  Hazel ;    do  not  see  Sum^ier  and  Lotta. 

Lieut.  Tramps — no,  no;  the  frontier  boys  are  some  of 
Nature's  finest  specimens  of  men. 

Hazel.  I  have  been  thinking  you  had  better  let  me 
speak  to  Mama. 

Lieut.  But  to  do  that  would  be  a  poor  commentary  on 
my  manliness. 

Hazel,  Do  not  consider  it  so.  Reflect  how  different 
Mama  is  from  most  mothers;  I  really  believe  I  could  do 
more  than  did  you  address  her  on  the  subject. 

Lieut,  Very  well,  dear.  You  shall  act  as  you  have 
reasoned :  the  wish  for  your  success  will  be  the  running 
subject  of  my  anxiety. 

Hazel.     She  is  coming  now ;  step  into  the  conservatory  to 
await  the  decision. — Exit  Lieut. — My  confidence  of   sue- . 
cess  is  disturbed  by  dread,  but  it  is  better  that  I  break   the 
ice  of  uncertainty  and  suspense. 

Mrs.  Fremont.  Alone,  Hazel?  I  am  glad  you  are, 
I  wish  to  speak  to  you  on  an  important  matter.  I  have 
noticed  of  late,  that  Lieutenant  Silverton  has  paid  you 
great  attention ;  have  you  encouraged  him  ? 

Hazel.  Why  Mama — Lieutenant  Silverton — has  been 
a  little — in  fact — I  was — going  to  ask — if  you — would — — 


82  CHIHUAHUA, 

Mrs.  p7'emont.     Would  what? 

Hazel,     Con — sent. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Is  it  possible  it  has  come  to  this?  do 
you  inform  me  that  he  has  proposed?  that — that  you  have 
accepted  him?  he,  does  he  flatter  himself  he  is  your 
chosen  one?   that  he  can  marry  you? 

Hazel,     Oh,  Mama!  Mama!  don't 

Mrs,  Premont,  Hush  child !  he  is  not  for  you.  His 
attentions  must  cease  at  once.  Why,  what  is  he?  who 
is  he?  Nothing  but  a  common  lieutenant;  doomed  to  live 
the  best  portion  of  his  life  on  the  frontier  with  cowboys, 
or  in  Alaska  with  the  Esquimaux.  He  is  of  good  family 
and  there  his  value  ends.  He  is  penniless.  I  did  not  in- 
tentionally introduce  to  my  family  a  fortune  hunter. 

Hazel,     But — but — Mama — I  love — him. 

Mrs,  Fre?>7ont,  Love!  what  is  love?  The  cause  of 
half  the  misery  that  holds  the  world  in  bondage.  Has  he 
been  here  today?  I  shall  see  him;  his  visits  shall  in  future 
cease. 

Enter  Lotta, 

Lotta,  Oh!  Mama!  what  would  you  do?  What  have 
you  done? 

Hazel,     Sobbing, — Lotta,  Lotta. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Stop  child,  stop!  Let  me  hear  no* 
more. 

Lotta.  Mama,  think  of  Hazel's  happiness;  she  loves 
the  Lieutenant;  think  of  yourself  when  you   were   a  girl. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Yes,  I  married  for  love,  what  resulted  ? 
poverty,  neglect  and  misery.  I  married  again  for  money, 
the  result,  all  the  comforts  money  could  buy:  would  you 
have  been  here  today,  in  this  house  dressed  as  you  are^ 


ACT  zr.  «8 

your  every  wish  gratified  and  all  that  wealth  can  give, 
had  I  not  married  Jackson  ? 

Lotta,  That  is  your  own  life,  others  have  different 
feelings;  have  a  little  consideration  for  theirs. 

Mrs,  I^rejitorft.  Lotta,  you  forget  yourself;  you  know 
not  what  you  say.  I  have  had  years  of  experience  you 
are  innocent  of  the  world's  ways. 

Lotta,  Then  Mama,  if  that  is  to  be  Hazel's  answer; 
give  me  mine;  I  love  and  am  loved  in  return;  I  have  ac- 
cepted Mr.  Sumner  for  my  future  husband. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  I  congratulate  you  on  your  choice. 
Mr.  Sumner  is  a  perfect  gentleman,  a  man  of  business 
and  of  the  world;  though  I  know  nothing  of  his  family 
connections,  he  is  wealthy. 

Enter  Mrs,  Kelton, 

Hazel,     Mama,  how  can  you  be  so  cruel,  so  heartless? 

Mrs,  Kelton,  Now  Matilda,  why  need  you  be  so 
severe?     The  Lieutenant  has  expectations. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Mother,  stop  right  where  you  are!  I 
have  given  my  decision ;  if  Hazel  persists  in  his  acquaint- 
ance, I  shall  cut  off  her  inheritance. 

Mrs.  Kelton,  Matilda!  Matilda  Fremont!  What  are 
you  threatening  ?  The  Lieutenant  is  a  noble  man ;  he  deeply 
loves  Hazel  and  will  make  her  happy.  Hazel,  continue 
true  to  the  Lieutenant,  you  shall  have  my  property. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Mother!  will  you  stop?  I  shall  take 
Hazel  to  Europe  this  very  week  and  remain  until  this  in- 
fatuation of  hers  is  cured.  Do  not  oppose  me;  you  know 
my  w^ill;  do  you  wish  to  add  more  lo  my  troubles?  We 
shall  see!; — Starts  to  exit — Mrs,    Kelton  follows, 

Mrs.  Kelton.     We  shall  see !  I  am  nearing  my  eightieth 


84  CHIHUAHUA. 

year  and  yet  owner  of  the  old  homestead;  and  Hazel  and 
Lotta  may  count  themselves  as  heirs  to  every  acre,  every 
inch. — Exit  Mrs,  Kelton  and  Mrs,  Fremont. 

Lotta,  Don't  cry,  Hazel  dear,  it  may  all  be  well  yet. 
Ray  is  here,  and  he  as  the  object  of  this  trouble  can  add 
greater  comfort  than  I,  so  will  leave  you. — Exit, 

Enter  Lieut, 

Hazel,     Ah,  Ray!  Ray 


Lieut,  I  knew  it,  I  foresaw  the  result.  Come,  come, 
yon  will  be  mine  yet;  Monte  will  help  me. 

Hazel,     What  can  he  do? 

Lieut,  He  will  assist  us  in  some  way;  I  tell  you  he  is 
a  friend  not  owned  at  random. 

Hazel,     Can't — can't  we  run  away  ? 

Lieut,  Exactly  my  plan;  unless  something  favorable 
happens  tomorrow^  I  shall  steal  you  away  in  the  afternoon 
to  a  justice'  court  in  Jersey;  the  justice  settles  many  cases 
of  a  life's  pursuing  sorrow. 

•  Hazel,  Hope  then  will  be  my  strength ;  to  live  alone — 
to  live  without  you,  I  could  not  do.  What  is  life  without 
love?  What  is  marriage  without  one  you  love.  I  almost 
envy  Lotta;  she  has  her  consent  but  I  am  denied  mine. 

Lieut,     Those  tears,  my  darling,  are  to  me 
The  saddest  humor  to  the  disastrous  ending 
Of  this  well-meant  and  reasoned  attempt. 
Fear  not,  I  know  there  will  advent  brighter  hours; 
Let  this  answer  rest  lightly  on  your  thoughts; 
And  remember,  what  some  men    may  say, 
Will  often  mark  a  victory  in  a  day. 
Here  comes  Monte. 

Hazel,     Then  I  will  leave  you. — Exit, 


ACTJV.  85 

Enter    Sumner, 

Sumner.  The  blues  again,  or  thinking,  which?  Has 
Mrs.  Fremont  rendered  her  decision,  that  you  look  so  grave  ? 

Lieut,  Yes;  it  is  no  she  said  for  me,  and  yes  for  you: 
for  you  I  rejoice;  for  myself  I  am  miserable;  most 
damnably  so. 

Sumner,  Then  change  the  existing  burden  of  the 
mood,  take  on  a  lighter  one  and  become  most  damnably 
happy.  Are  you  so  weak  as  to  allow  a  woman's  will  to 
overcome  yours?  If  she  were  a  queen  and  you  a.  much 
be-chained  and  prisoned  subject,  you  might  well  put  the 
hour  to  fret;  but  on  such  slight  occasion  you  have  but 
need  to  exercise  your  courage,  and  at  the  end  to  exclaim 
I've  won!  I've  won! 

Lieut,  Right!  your  reasoning  never  fails  to  give  me  a 
feeling  of  comfort;  gloomy  thoughts  I  am  quite  subject 
to:  though  a  soldier's  maxim  should  be,  "Command  your- 
self and  you  command  an  Empire."  I  fear  the  empire  will 
never  acknowledge  the  wisdom  of  my  ways  and  reason, 
for  the  fact  I  cannot  yet  claim  what  needs  me  most  at 
present. 

Enter  Airs,  Fremont ;  Lieut,  steps  forward;  Su7nner 
retires  to  one  co?'ner^  unseen  by  stage, 

Lieut,     Mrs.  Fremont — 

Mrs,  Fremont,  We  are  on  the  same  errand.  Lieuten- 
ant Silverton,  I  did  not  imagine  you  would  presume  on 
the  freedom  of  our  social  circle  extended  to  you  by  me ;  to 
make  love,  propose  and  engage  yourself  to  my  daughter. 
Had  I  thought  such  would  be  the  outcome,  you  would 
never  have  been  adinittcd.  Of  you  personally,  I  have 
naught  to  say  against;  the  family  which  you  represent  is 


86  CHIHUAHUA. 

one  of  age  and  title,  and  they  have  my  greatest  respect; 
to  you  financially  I  have  the  greatest  objection,  which  is 
most  vital  to  the  happiness  of  my  daughter;  my  request  is 
that  your  attentions  and  visits  cease  henceforth. 

Sumner,     Aside. — "So  mote  it  be." 

Lieut.  Mrs.  Fremont,  to  me  you  have  extended  as  you 
say,  a  courtesy  in  the '  admission  of  myself  to  the  social 
circle  of  w^hich  you  are  leader;  but  for  me  to  speak,  to 
dance,  to  be  honored  w^ith  your  daughter's  company  and 
not  love  her,  w^ould  be  to  charge  me  w^ith  a  will  of  iron, 
a  stoic's  heart,  two  qualities  I  do  not  possess;  to  be  a 
woman  hater,  to  brand  me  as  cold  and  heartless,  unworthy 
a  true  woman's  love. 

Mrs^  Fre^nont,  You  are  entirely  too  susceptible  and 
should  not  run  loose  in  society. 

Sumner,  Aside,- -'Kay  might  exclaim  at  intervals, 
«  Girls  beware,  I'm  silly.' 

Lieut, ^    So  it  was  my  family  that  gave  me  the  freedom 
Of  your  set.     The  American  with  a  lineage 
Must  have  it  backed  with  coin,  or  he  stands 
Little  chance  with  the  foreigner,  titled 
And  insolvent.     True  my  ancestry  is  influential 
In  its  name,  but  here  for  once  it's  ceased 
To  work:  yet  the  strength  of  a  pedigree  endures, 
And  forms  always  an  interesting  theme 
To  the  untitled  public  of  a  republic; 
For  there  are  they,  that  regard  with  awe. 
The  noble  rogues  of  other  days. 
Were  my  ancestors  feudal  slaves,  you'd  not 
Hear  the  boast  of  heraldry  valued  by  me 
In  its  moldy  worth  and  memories;  but  being 
A  patrician,  born  of  patricians,  I  beg 


ACT  IV.  87 

Your  thoughtful  consideration  of  the  fact; 
And  may  its  worm-eaten  value  never  fade, 
Though  I  fear  it  has.     An  exponent 
Of  the  common  herd,  I'll  feel  disgraced 
To  be  thus  viewed.     Sweet  slumbering 
Castled  memories,  abbied  skeletons  and 
Haunted  lodge's  tales;  do  bolster  up  my  claim 
To  be  a  descendant  of  a  gouted  race  of  nobles; 
Which  avails  me  not. 

Permit  me  to  say,  that  in  my  judgment  the  woman  who 
values  her  daughter's  happiness  in  life  by  the  amount  of 
ducates  she  will  bring  in  the  matrimonial  market,  is  un- 
worthy of  the  name  of  mother. 

Mrs.  Fremont.     Sir!  such    language 

lAeut,  That  is  all,  Mrs.  Fremont;  I  bid  you  good 
afternoon. 

Enter   Cicero, 

'     Cicero.     Sentah  Choate  am  in  de  parlor. 
Mrs.  Fremont,     Show  him  in. — Exit  Cicero, 

Enter  Choate.      Converses  with  Mrs.  Fremont. 

Sumner.  Aside  to  Lieut. — Remain,  Ray,  where  you 
are. 

Lieut.  I  can't,  old  boy,  I  can't;  it's  against  all  rules  of 
etiquette. 

Sumner,  Don't  place  such  value  on  etiquette;  remain 
as  a  favor  to  me. 

Lieiit.     Well,  for  you  then,  awhile. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Rings  bell. —  You  are  prompt. 
Senator. 

Choate.     I  value  promptness;  it  made  my  success  in  life. 


88  CHIHUAHUA. 

Entei'  Cicero. 

Airs.  I^remont,  Acquaint  Mrs.  Kelton  and  the  young 
ladies  that  the  Senator  is  here  to  read  the  will. — JBxit 
Cicero. 

Lieut.      To  Sumner.      The  will!  I  was  a  witness  to  it. 

Su7nner.     Then  it  is  well  you  remained. 

Choate,  Ah,  Mr.  Sumner,  Lieutenant.;  glad  to  see 
you,  gentlemen.  It  is  fortunate  you  are  here.  Lieutenant, 
you  were  a  witness  to  this  will. 

Lieut.     Yes,  1  did  attest  to  its  execution. 

Enter  Hazel .^  Lett  a  and  Mrs.  Kelton.  Hazel  starts  to 
go  toward  the  Lieut, 

Mrs.  Prefnont.     Hazel,  I  want  you  with  me. 

Choate.  Good  day,  ladies.  Now  to  unfold  the  mys- 
teries of  this  instrument. —  Opens  will. 

New  York,  Nov.  20,  18 . 

In  the  name  of  God:  Amen. 

I,  Jackson  Fremont,  a  resident  of  the  City,  County  and 
State,  of  New  York;  being  of  sound  mind  and  memory, 
do  of  my  own  free  will  and  accord,  after  all  just  and  law- 
ful claims  against  my  estate  are  paid  in  full,  bequeath  the 
following  portions  of  properties,  claimed  by  me  and  known 
as  my  own.     To  wit: 

Item  First:  .To  my  wife,  Mrs.  Jackson  Fremont;  one- 
third  of  the  aggregate  amount  of  all  real  estate,  stocks, 
bonds,  bank  accounts,  and  various  commercial  interests 
held  by  me. 

Mrs.  Eremont. — A  third! 

Choate.- -Item  Second:  The  remaining  two-thirds  of 
the  aggregate  amount  of  all  real  estate,  stocks,  bonds, 
bank  accounts    and    various    commercial    interests  held  by 


ACT  IV.  89 

me;  go    free    and    unconditionally    to    Mr.    Montgomery 
Sumner,  of  Tombstone,  Arizona. 

All  surprised;  Mrs,  Premont  attemfts  to  speak; 
Choate  motiofis  silence. 

Item  third:  I  further  appoint  Mr.  Montgomery  Sum- 
ner to  be  the  legal  executor  of  this  will,  without  bonds. 

In  witness    whereof,  I  hereunto    set   my  hand  and  seal 
and  decree  this  to  be   my  last  will   and   testament,  in  pres- 
ence of  these  witnesses. 
[SEAL.J  (Signed.)    JACKSON  FREMONT. 

Farnwell  Choate, 
Witnesses:  Attorney  and 'Notary  Public. 

Lieut.  Ray  Silverton,  Hotel  Metropole. 

Horatio  West,  No. ,  Lexington  Ave. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  What!  The  property  left  to  Mr. 
Sumner? 

Lieut,     To  Monte! 

Mrs,  Kelt  on.     Why!  Why!  this  is  strange! 

Hazel,     Mr.  Sumner! 

Lotta,     Papa  and  Mr.  Sumner  were  great  friends* 

Su7nner,  Aside, — Heaven  conferred  on  me  a  talent,  I 
put  to  good  account;  in  consequence  fortune  assails  me 
with  her  gifts. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Senator,  have  you  read  aright  ?  leave 
this  property  to  Mr.  Sumner? 

Choate,  Quite  right,  Mrs.  Fremont.  I  confess  it  does 
slightly  astonish  me. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Impossible!  How  is  this?  Mr.  Sum- 
ner, that  you  are  made  an  executor  of  this  property,  and 
that  ygu  are  a  recipient  of  two-thirds  of  its  value?  Who 
are  you?     Tell  me  that,  sir?     You  were  but  a  stranger  to 


00  CHIHUAHUA. 

my  house  two  months  ago.  Senator,  I  say  that  Fremont 
Vvas  insane  when  he  made  that  will;  I  protest  against  it; 
it  is  an  outrage. 

Ckoate,  The  will  is  valid.  If  ever  a  man  was  sane  of 
mind,  Fremont  was,  the  time  he  wrote  that  will;  is  it  not 
so.  Lieutenant? 

Lieut,     It  is  so. 

All's.  Fremont.     Yes,  vindicate  yourselves,  conspirators! 

Choate.     Madam,  add  respectful  care  to  you  speech. 

Sutnner.  If  I  may  be  left  to  a  private  interview  with 
Mrs.  Fremont,  I  can  explain  how  Mr.  Fremont  came  to 
make  me  an  heir —     , 

Mrs,  Fremont,     An  heir! 

Sumner,  To  his  estate  and  its  executor.  Their  existed 
a  bond  of  friendship  between  us,  stronger  than  the  ties  of 
husband  and  wife.  If  you  will  permit  me,  ladies  and 
gentlemen. — All  exit, 

Choate,  Aside, — I  remember  now,  when  he  eulogized 
Fremont,  he  said  they  were  great  friends. — Exit, 

Airs,  Fremont,  Speak,  sir!  What  is  the  meaning  of 
this  will?  I  never  heard  Mr.  Fremont  mention  your  name 
previous  to  your  introduction  to  our  house. 

Sumner,  Not  by  the  name  of  Sumner,  no;  but  pos- 
sibly by  the  name  of  Emory. 

Airs,  Fremont,  Emory!  Emory!  What  of  it?  you'r 
not  Emory ! 

Sumner,  No,  were  I  John  Emory,  it  would  be  a  com- 
pliment to  Nature's  treatment  of  me  that  she  should  have 
kept  the  wrinkles  from  my  brow,  the  silver  from  my  hair 
for  so  many  years.  Hardly  old  John  Emory,  your  first 
husband,  but  his  representative  by  blood;  I  am  Walter 
Emory  your  son 


ACT  IV,  91 

J[frs,  Fremont,  My  son!  You'r  not  my  son!  he  died 
in  Sonora,  Old  Mexico,  years  ago;  he  and  his  father! 
You  are  an  impostor — you  are 

Sumner,  Mother  dear,  your  memory  fails.  Your 
accusations  are  unjust.  Fifteen  years  make  great  changes, 
and  I  have  changed.  Mother,— ^(?/^^  out  hand, — 
Perhaps  Mama  would  sound  more  like  home;  Mama 
dear,  are  you  glad  to  see  your  boy  ? 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Keep  away  from  me!  This  is  out- 
rageous! this — even  were  you  my  son,  I  care  nothing  for 
you;  you  are  nought  to  me  but  a  stranger:  I  shall  not 
recognize  you. 

Sumner,     Aside, — The    chilling    atmosphere    of    my 
companion's  company 
Makes  merry  with  my  sensitive  feelings. 
My  mother  does  not  recognize  me 
With  maternal  kiss  and  warm  embrace; 
I'm  quite  at  a  loss  of  what  to  do; 
Shall  I  weep?     And  yet  the  world 
Will  wonder  why  some  men  are  cruel. 

Mrs,  Frefnont,  I  repeat,  sir;  how  came  this  property 
left  to  you?  Your  claiming  to  be  Walter  Emory,  answers 
not  the  question.  1  shall  contest  this  will  to  the  bitter 
end,  not  a  dollar,  not  a  cent,  shall  you  receive. 

Sumner,     That's  for  the  judge  to  say. 
Do  you  realize  that  you  cast  shame 
On  the  sacred  title  of  mother? 
You  as  that,  are  at  level  with  the  uncivilized; 
Uncharitable  as  the  Hindoo  that  casts 
Her  child  to  the  crocodiles  of  the  Ganges; 
She's  impelled  by  religious  motives, 
Your  religion  is  Mammon  worship. 


92  CHIHUAHUA. 

The  Hindoo  has  more  motherly  love  than  makes  up 

That  passion  of  your  soul.     Of  course 

In  point  of  education  there  is  a  difference. 

This  is  a  home  coming: 

The  prodigal  and  I,  meet  in  extremes. 

Mrs,   I^remont.     How    came    this    will  so?     Why   are 
you  mentioned  in  it? 

Sumner,     Fremont  was  the  direct  cause  of  my  sorrows: 
He  robbed  my  father  of  me,  and  a  paying  claim; 
He  robbed  me  of  my  father,  and  an  inheritance. 
But  for  him  I'd  be  a  collegiate;  instead 
The  great,  bitter,  cold,  heartless  world. 
Did  my  education  with  experience  as  master. 
No  regrets  for  that;  'twas  a  good  thing  'twas  so. 
Our  bitterest  woes  are  often  our  greatest  blessings. 
I  have  found  home  at  last — O,  what  a  home — 
Not  such  a  home  as  Paine  immortalized  in  song. 
Had  I  tears,  and  I  probably  have;  I  might 
Shed  them :   did  I  rub  my  eyes  with  an  onion. 
But  to  reply,  Mrs.  Fremont,  Mama; 
I  know  not  how  it  was,  he  must  have  repented 
On  receiving  the  history  of  my  life:   I  wrote 
Over  a  year  ago,  when  in  hard  straits  and 
Asked  a  partial  consideration. 
The  pity  of  his  heart  has  spoken; 
Though  I  unanswered  then,  am  answered  now; 
A  surprise  as  strange  to  me,  as  is  to  you. 
It  was  a  crime  of  the  soul,  not  of  the  hand: 
This  wrill  does  tardy  honor  to  his  memory. 

Bowie  is  here   being  shown  in;  on  seeing  scene  raises 
his  hand  and  stops  the  aiinouncement  of  his  presence  by 


ACT  TV,  93 

Cicero^  who  exits,     Bowie   seats   himself  to  one  side^  un- 
observed by  stage, 

Mrs,  JFremont,  You'r  no  more  to  me,  what  once  you 
were; 

An  intriguer  now,  then  you  were  a  child. 
By  emotional  eloquence,  of  fact  or  fancy, 
You  have  stolen  what  should  be  mine. 
Two  thirds!  why  stop  at  two? 
He  should  have  left  you  three. 
Where  are  your  proofs, 
To  make  known  to  the  law  your  right? 
For  by  another  week  you  can  testify 
To  the  probate  judge  this  romantic  story, 
Of  how  you  hoodwinked  an  insane  man. 

Sumner,  I  have  but  one  proof,  a  gentleman  that  I 
appointed  with  to  be  here  at  this  hour,  but  he  has  not 
arrived. 

Bowie,     He  is  here. 

Mrs,  Fremont,  Turns  quickly^  shrieks, — John! — 
Sinks  on  sofa^  showing  great  nervousness, 

Sumner,  You  do  honor  to  the  virtue  of  promptness. 
Allow  me,  Mrs.  Fremont,  to  make  you  on  conversational 
terms  with  Mr.  Bowie  from  Chihuahua. 

Bowie,  Yes,  Mrs.  Fremont,  fifteen  years  has  been  an 
epoch  in  our  lives;  but  considering  your  memory  for  our 
son  is  deficient,  it  holds  good  for  me.  You  readily  be- 
lieved Fremont's  tale  of  our  deaths,  and  received  a  fortune 
in  exchange  for  that  belief;  the  gold  I  struggled  for  on 
the  sagebrush  plains  and  mountains  of  Nevada  and  Ari- 
zona, ultimately  to  find  in  the  Sierra  Madras.  My  part- 
ner conceived  the  brilliant  idea  of  my  starving  in  the 
mountains  as  compensation  for   my   pains.     Some  waits  in 


94  CHIHUAHUA. 

this  life,  at  times  are  long,  very  long;  but  the  wait  is  as  a 
dog's  tail,  it  has  an  end.  Yet  all  can't  reckon  up;  it  is  the 
boy's  and  my  triumph  now;  that  portion  of  the  property  of 
Fremont's  formerly  mine,  falls  to  our  son,  Walter  Emory, 
otherwise  Mr.  Sumner  from  Tombstone.  Mr.  Bowie 
and  his  son,  Mr.  Sumner,  will  undertake  to  enjoy  life;  an 
occupation  they  have  never  followed ;  but  will  attempt  to 
quickly  learn  the  duties  of  its  following. —  Takes  Sum- 
ner^s  a7'm  and  starts  to  g-o^  "walks  to  center  door, 

Sumner,  Aside  to  Bowie, — Leave  the  house  quickly. 
I  will  meet  you  at  the  Hoffman,  five  sharp. 

Bowie,     At  five. — Exit, 

Sumner,  To  those  without, — Your  attendance  now, 
ladies  and  gentlemen. — Enter  all, — Senator,  explanations 
have  been  in  order  and  Mrs.  Fremont  understands. 

Choate,  I  am  happy  to  learn  all  points  have  been 
amicably  settled ;  it  would  hardly  be  in  keeping  with  the 
house  of  Fremont,  to  have  a   legal  squabble  over  the  will. 

Mrs,  Kelton,     Matilda,  you  don't  look  well. 

Mrs,  ErG7?iont,    I — I — Hand  to  heart, — My  digital 

Mrs,  Kelton,  Hazel,  the  medicine!  Oh!  Help!  She 
is  dying! — She  is  dead. 

Hazel,     O,  Mama,  speak!  only  speak  to  Hazel. 

Lotta,     Just  a  word.  Mama;  only  speak. 

Choate,  This  is  frightful,  but  may  be  she  has  only 
fainted. 

Lieut,     Rings  bell, — Enter  Cicero, 

Lieut,     A  doctor,  call  a  doctor  quick! — Exit  Cicero, 

Sumner,     Aside, — An  exit  well  accomplished. 

Lieut,     Heart  failure. 

Mrs,  Kelto7i,  At  last;  it's  come  at  last;  poor  Matilda; 
I  knew  §he  would  never  stand  another  shock. 


ACT  IV,  95 

Sumner,     Aside, — Till  future  cause  for  change  arrives, 
My  father's  name  shall  remain  Mr.  Bowie; 
I  shall  continue  the  alias  my  death. 
This  family  history  must  keep  hidden 
Underneath  the  monument,  inscribed, 
'To  all  that  is  mortal  of  old  memories.' 
Therein  sheltered  from  the  world's  inquiring  gaze, 
Will  be  entombed  the  misty  legend,  the  tradition. 
Known  to  me  alone;  another  added  mystery 
To  the  ancient  Azetc  Mine  of  Chihuahua. 


FINIS. 


EPILOGUE. 


Sumner. 

Why  need  there  be  an  epilogue 

To  this  pecuhar  case? 

Whereas  in  Shakespeare's  time  the  tendency 

Was  to  write  Hfe  as  it  should  be; 

In  this  pedantic  and  interrogatory  age 

We  essay  to  write  as  existence  is. 

A  limited  comprehension  would  not  ask 

Who's  the  villain,  but  say  I: 

'For  if  he's  not  a  villain,  what's  the  designation? 

Some  will  oppose  the  assertion. 

I  am  good,  generous  at  times;  in  the 

Countless  ways,  that  generosity  and  forbearance 

Is  loved  to  be  received  by  him  or  her  or  brute: 

Many  stand  to  swear  the  fact  with  voice  or  look. 

If  ingratitude  has  not  dulled  their  love  of  me. 

Many  will  say  I  turn  out  too  well; 

I  might  use  the  finale  pistol,  possibly 

Mesmerise  myself  to  a  never  awakening 

Trance-like  state,  undying  and  yet  dead. 

Rascals  usually  die  in  the  last  act; 

I  don't  consider  this  the  last  act,  or  I  a  rogue. 

How  many  sympathize  with  me?  a  great  many; 

How  many  dare  tell  others  of  this  sympathy? 

A  very  few. 

(irrNIVBESITTII 


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